Enter Sandman
by 1983Sarah
Summary: Dean and Sam go on a hunting trip to investigate strange deaths that are taking place only at night. There are few clues, except that the victims are all found in their beds with a strange substance in their eyes. And the body count is rising. Completed!
1. Chapter 1 Nightmare

The whir of a small fan filled the pitch black bedroom. The soft noise made the curtains around the bed stir. A still form was sleeping on the bed, illuminated only by the red light of the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, which read 2:59am. The form on the bed moved ever so slightly, the woman shifting from her back to her side.

In the far left corner of the room a shape materializes, darker then the room itself. The figure moves closer to the sleeping women, eyes burning a venomous orange, and begins to slowly pull away the covers. It tosses them aside and leans onto the bed, overtop of the women.

"Hmmmm," moans the woman one the bed, opening her eyes.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Who………what…..please…….don't hurt me!"

The black figure's orange eyes are hidden for a moment as it turns, reaching for something deep within the folds of its black robe.

Suddenly, the hand emerges and the creature throws something that hits the women's eyes. She screams and begins rubbing at her eyes, blind to what is going on around her.

"You sick…please, go away before I kick your ass!"

The figure backs into the corner again and now the woman seems to be concerned with something else.

"Where'd YOU come from?" she questions thin air, "Leave me alone!"

She pounds on the window behind her. The actions becoming more panicked, more frenzied. A look of pure terror is upon her face and the window's glass becomes streaked with blood as the pounding on the window reaches a new level of intensity that seems to go on for hours before quiet fills the room again.

The figure gazes at the once again still form of the woman, whose eyes are wide open in horror, mouth gapping with screams that can no longer be uttered. It turns its smoldering gaze from the woman, once again a shadow, and disappears into the night.


	2. Chapter 2 Hotel

A small motel sat along a dirt road. Half of the neon sign was burnt out so that it read "Ho Inn" instead of "Homey Inn." The once white siding was now a peeling grayish black along the row of motel doors that curved in a U-shape around the main office. One of the rooms, number 6, had a black 1967 Impala in front of it.

The interior of the Homey Inn motel rooms were no better then the exterior. Inside room number 6 sat two young men. Beads of sweat rolled down their faces as one lazily typed at a computer while the other moved around on one of the beds, searching for a comfortable spot to lie in.

The walls of the room were a dull yellow-brown color, from age and use of tobacco products in the room or by design wasn't certain. The carpet was threadbare and also an ugly shaggy brown. Looking up at the ceiling didn't help matters either, for large water stains spotted it, making the room even more drab.

Bam! A brown work boot slammed against the sputtering air conditioner that gave one last wheeze before it screeched and died.

"Damn it," yelled Dean, "I swear this motel has it in for us. It's gotta be like a hundred and ten degrees outside and the air conditioner is freakin' broken!"

He hobbled over to the dead air conditioner and picked up his boot from the floor, jamming his foot into it.

"Did that really help?" asked Sam as he typed away at his laptop computer on the desk next to the two beds.

"Well, it made me feel slightly less pissed off, until it stopped WORKING!"

Dean pounded his fist one last time on the beaten machine and lay back down on the motel bed.

"Calm down Dean, stop being such a whiner, it IS Phoenix after all."

"Dude, could you be more of a woman? I'm just sayin', it's a flea bag motel and I feel like a burger over the open flame. Let's get outta here. Maybe hit Vegas or something."

"We're not gonna hit Vegas, Dean. Although there are a few other places that we might what to check into. What do you say to Anderson, Indiana?"

"What do they got there? More poltergeists? Cause I've about had my fill of those here, I swear to God Sammy."

"No, just a missing couple who were in serious debt, looks like maybe they got into some shady demon-dealing and…"

"Pass. They'll get what's coming to them. What else you got?"

"Here's something, up by Fall River, Massachusetts. Police and even the coroner are confused by a rash of odd deaths in the area."

"No surprise there, since they're probably trying to do our job. They are like Gomer Pyle when to comes to these things. I feel kinda bad for the shmucks. So, what's the deal in Hicksville."

"Well, in 'Hicksville' what's happening is odd, even for us. There have been three deaths so far, all similar."

Sam turned the laptop toward Dean, who walked up and sat down on the end of the bed next to the desk. On the computer pictures of two women and a man occupied the top half of the screen, while the news report for Fall River was visible on the bottom, with the headline blaring _Death Toll Rises as Serial Killer Strikes Again!_

"They're already labeling this a serial killer situation? Jumping the gun a bit, now aren't they," said Dean.

"The deaths all occurred in the victims' homes, all at night. And all were said to appear in distress and had some substance in their eyes, although the police are keeping exactly what that 'substance' is to themselves they have ran a chemical analysis on it."

"Thank you Gil Grissom."

Sam shot Dean a dirty look, which Dean ignored, "The only way to find out if it is a spirit or demon is to check it out. Start packing Sammy, we're hitting the road and gettin' outta this hell-hole."

Dean tossed one of the dirty t-shirts from the floor at Sam's head and then headed to his bed to gather up his clothes.

"That's your shirt, Dean, you slob!" yelled Sam.

Dean just shrugged, "Sorry Sammy, you're the woman, so you're the maid here."

Sam tossed the shirt back at Dean and it hit him in the chest. He grabbed it off of the floor and shoved it into a black bag, along with all of his other personal items. "C'mon Sam, we're burnin' daylight that we could use to get these evil sonsofbitches," said Dean.

Within minutes the two brothers are packed and on the road. Dean sang with the music in the Impala: "Sleep with one eye open, gripping your pillow tight." He turned and looked at Sam, "Dude, are you brain dead? It's Metallica, you gotta sing along to Metallica!"

"Sure Dean, the best of mullet rock on cassette."

"Don't knock it 'til ya try it!"Dean began pounding on the steering wheel to the music; head banging to the beat.

Sam just smiled and buried his nose in their father's journal. He flipped the pages back and forth between two entries. One about Rakshasa, a Hindu demon that could not only change shape but used illusions to confuse and kill humans; the other a Basilisk, an evil serpent that could spit venom or kill with a stare.

"Dean, this is interesting. I'm looking at a Rakshasa and a Basilisk. I think it could be either one of those things killing people in Fall River. It's just; it'd work better if I combined the two. There's something going on with the victim's eyes and they appear to be fighting for their lives but there is no major trauma to the bodies reported"

"So, it's a case of what if they mated?"

"I doubt that, but still, I cant' find anything in the journal that attacks people's eyes and causes them to go crazy or hallucinate at the same time. It's strange, usually dad wrote about anything and everything."

"Well, Hell's gates were open for a long time and a lot of nasty shit escaped. Maybe this is something dad never saw before."

"It's just, there's something there, and I just can't put my finger on it. Like, I've heard something like this before but I don't know where."

"Ya got me. I've been through dad's journal a few times and it doesn't ring any bells. Maybe you should try your laptop, you know, the thing with the buttons you can't live without and if you ever lost it you'd run screaming through town like a man on fire."

Sam reached for his laptop, saying, "Says the man who calls his car his baby and practically puts it to bed every night."

"Hey, don't mess with the Impala dude, she's sensitive."

Dean gunned the Impala's engine and took the Fall River exit. They were only a few minutes outside of the town. Sam shot Dean a worried look; he had a bad feeling about this case because stuff just wasn't adding up. Dean gave Sam one of his winning grins and Sam started to relax. The roar of the engine continued as the traveled over the dark blacktop road to their hunting destination.


	3. Chapter 3 Dreams and Hotels

The sun was just coming up when Dean pulled the Impala in front of another motel, The Pink Flamingo. Dean had been driving for just over an hour to get outside the city limits so as not to attract attention to their arrival. The gravel crunched under the tires as the car parked in front of the Pink Flamingo's sign, a flashy neon flamingo in bright pink with a green and brown palm tree next to it.

"Sounds like a new girly drink, doesn't it Sammy? Sam? Hey, wake up bitch!"

"Jerk" mumbled Sam, still half asleep, his face stuck to the Impala's window.

John's journal had slide to the floor in the preceding hour and the laptop had switched to a screensaver of inky black with the Windows logo bopping from corner to corner. Dean pushed Sam's shoulder and he jerked awake, realizing that they were at yet another crappy motel.

"Well, I wouldn't put it past you to try it," said Sam, finally responding to Dean's original question.

"Shut up!" said Dean, and with that he exited the Impala. The door slammed and Sam slide the laptop off of his lap and onto the seat, then picked up their father's journal and placed it on the dash. He got out and shut the door to join Dean at the counter in the Pink Flamingo.

"One room, two beds. Do you have Pay-Per-View by any chance?" Dean grinned at the woman behind the counter.

She glared at Dean and slammed the key down on the counter-top with a grunt, "It'll be extra, Mr. Bartholomew Simpson."

She raised her eyebrows as she said the name that was on the credit card and then glanced back at Dean again. Dean just grinned as she stared at him.

"Go ahead and add it, ma'am."

Sam gave Dean a look, then sighed. They lugged their bags up the stairs to the room that had the same number as that on the key ring, 34.

"Home, sweet home. For now anyway. I know you got your beauty sleep princess, but I need a quick catnap and a shower before I go knocking on doors."

"Well, you ARE a little ripe, Dean. Shower couldn't hurt, and that way the people we're trying to talk to don't pass out first. Go take a shower, 'cause then I could do some more research on this town."

"Whatever, nerd."

Dean headed into the bathroom and closed the door. Sam could hear the shower start to run and tuned his attention back to the laptop, trying a Google search for creatures that attack eyes, not that he thought it would be that easy.

* * *

It was midday and the woman had just eaten lunch at the local sub shop and was now heading to the park to catch a few minutes of peace before returning to the office. She wandered by the pond and laid a red and white checked blanket down on the grass. The woman snuggled into the blanket and closed her eyes, not trying to fall asleep but the sound of the water lapping on the pond's shore and the cool breeze caressing her face eased her mind and slowly she began to sleep.

At first, she had a lovely dream, it was a beautiful sunset and she was with her boyfriend, barefoot on a beach somewhere. Then it started to change and the sky turned dark. Her boyfriend disappeared and instead there was a dark figure coming at her.

"Who…what…are you?" she asked in her dream.

The figure just stalked closer toward her. She turned to run but couldn't seem to move, her feet were stuck in quicksand. The woman looked back at the black mass that was moving at her and she screamed, clawing at her surroundings to get out of the sucking sand but it just pulled her deeper so that she was now up to her armpits in sand.

"No, wait! Help! Please….," she begged the form in front of her.

It turned and looked at her with evil orange eyes. The woman lost her breath at the sight of it and tried to scream once more, but her mouth was filled with quicksand.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." The woman woke up yelling and struggling, sitting up with a jerk. As the sleep left her eyes she realized that the once beautiful day had turned dark. Fat rain drops started hitting her face and the water on the pond became choppy. A streak of lightening blazed across the sky and drew her attention across the pond, where a dark figure with glowing orange eyes stood. She gasped, hands raised to her mouth. The rain started to come down in sheets, obscuring her vision. She squinted into the rain and felt relief that nothing was by the pond.

"Still dreaming…," she murmured, and rushed back to her office through the rain.


	4. Chapter 4 Interview

Meanwhile, back at the Pink Flamingo, Sam was getting frustrated working on his laptop computer. He'd been working on the computer for over half of the day and hadn't made any headway in the case. Dean had finished with his shower and was lying on one of the beds, catching a few minutes rest after having driven all night. Sam decided that enough was enough. He snapped the laptop shut and walked over to Dean.

"Rise and shine sleeping beauty. I've about had it with this place; I'm not getting anywhere online or in Dad's journal. About the only thing I've found out is that odd deaths are common here, and they've been happening for over 200 years. It's always the same, too. They seem to be perfectly terrified and have 'an unknown substance' in their eyes"

A pillow flew into the air and smack Sam on top of the head.

"That's ANOTHER reason you didn't get the extra cookie, fugly," mumbled Dean into his remaining pillow, "Don't try and dazzle me with your data. You got nuthin'."

"C'mon man. Let's go and do some interviews, see if we can get somewhere."

"Fine, I'm up, but I gotta tell ya two things: 1) I'm gonna put a world of hurt on your ass for waking me up, Little Miss Sunshine, and 2) I'm really not looking forward to the smell of death in morning, so we're starting with the families first, got it? Then we'll move on to your friendly neighborhood coroner."

"Yeah, whatever Dean, let's just get this thing figured out before someone else dies, like me from old age."

"Well, I'm glad you think you're going first, even though you're younger. Guess that clean living ain't all it's cracked up to be."

Sam just shook his head and smiled, "Whatever, Dean. Let's just go already."

Dean headed straight out the door for the trunk of the Impala to make sure they had everything they needed. In the hotel Sam packed up his laptop and gathered some extra hunting items scattered around the room: rock salt, holy water, and a few research books. As Sam exited the hotel room Dean climbed into the driver's seat and reached into the glove box. He grabbed a box full of credit cards, passports, and IDs.

"So, who do you wanna be this time Sammy? Grief counselors?" he looked up at Sammy to gauge his reaction.

"I don't think so, Dean. Who's gonna buy you as a grief counselor?"

"Sam, you more then make up for my lack of believability as one," Dean smirked and dug through the box some more, "What do you say to the CDC? Makes sense, right, unknown substance potentially resulting in deaths? I'll be Agent Hunt and you can be Agent Phelps."

"Yeah, sounds good to me, other then the names Dean. Why do you always do stuff like that? One of these days some local yokel is going to notice."

"Lighten up Sam, no one's gonna notice, they never do."

"I just wish you wouldn't keep testing the limits Dean."

Dean looked at Sam and shook his head, "C'mon, you know you just wish that you'd come up with it first!"

He glanced at Sam, grinned, and twisted the key in the ignition switch. The engine roared to life and the Impala sprang to life, barreling down the road and into town. In under an hour they were parked outside a grey two-story house. The Winchester brothers walked up the front porch steps and knocked on the door. A man in his early thirties answered the door.

"Hello, can I help you two gentlemen with something?"

"Hello Mr. Sandham, I'm Agent Hunt, and this is Agent Phelps, we're with the CDC and just need to ask you a few questions about the death of your wife, Jennifer Sandham," said Dean.

"What do the Centers for Disease Control want with that? They already did an autopsy and couldn't find anything, why now?" asked Mr. Sandham.

"Sir, we're just trying to determine what is happening in this region of the  
United States. There have been several instances of unusual deaths and we are just trying to determine if this is a communicable disease," said Sam.

"Yeah, if it's a plague or something," said Dean.

Sam gave Dean a withering look and tried to reassure the man in front of them.

"Plague? What do you mean, I've got a one year old upstairs, should she be vaccinated or som…"

"No, no, no, don't worry Mr. Sandham; my partner is just trying to point out the importance of any information you could provide us with at all. Is there anything that you can think of, anything that stood out in your mind from that night…" asked Sam.

"Call me Jim, and I don't know, I mean, it was all so strange."

Jim ran his hand across his face and through his hair, a mix of sadness, fear, and frustration on his face. His brow was creased as he concentrated on the memories of his wife and the night she died.

"I work third shift, you see, graveyard. I wasn't home with her that night; gosh I wish I had been. I'd talked with Jenny that night and she seemed ok…"

"Had she been acting strange at all lately?" asked Dean, "You know, any odd behavior, anything out of the ordinary?"

"It could be something small; really, anything would be helpful to us."

"Well, for the past couple of weeks she'd been…seeing things, she said."

"Seeing things? What kinds of things?" asked Dean.

"Jenny told me that she was having nightmares, and they were really vivid. And she'd fall asleep at odd times, during the day and when she'd wake up, she'd, it's crazy."

"She'd what?" prompted Dean.

"Jenny said sometimes she couldn't tell the dream from reality. That scared me, especially with her home all night alone with Sabrina."

"Sabrina?" asked Sam, looking over at Dean who was scanning the house and wandering around the room as much as he could.

"Our daughter, she's one. Anyway, I though maybe she should see someone professionally about her dreams and stuff, but she laughed it off, blamed it on sleep deprivation due to staying up with Sabrina. When I came home that morning it was…," Jim began to choke up as he remembered the scene that morning.

"Listen, we know it's hard, but if you could just explain the scene to us?" said Sam.

"It was…bad. There was blood all over the window. She'd…her hands…and her face! She seemed so frightened. Her eyes were wide and they had this…stuff in them. It made them turn a blackish brown color. Jenny had beautiful eyes, you know."

Jim turned away for a moment, then looked at the Winchesters.

"I'm sorry, that's all I can remember, can you leave, please? Just go…," his voice trailed off.

"Of course, sir. Thank you for your time," said Sam.

Dean and Sam let themselves out of the house and headed for the Impala. Dean stopped before entering and leaned on the roof of the car. Sam was opening his door and looked up at him.

"So, sounds like some demon freak is getting his jollies causing people to see things, dream things, and then go out of their freakin' minds."

"Yeah, I'm thinking this is some kind of sleep demon, now that I hear more, Dean. Let's check the morgue and see the records."

They both got into the Impala and Dean quickly accelerated away from the Sandham house, squealing the tires slightly.


	5. Chapter 5 The Eyes Have it

The woman slammed into the glass doors, pushing them open. She rushed into the building and let the door shut with a swish. The woman stood stock-still; legs slightly apart and arms out and ridged at her sides. Rain water dripped from her into a puddle on the ceramic-titled floor.

"My God, Sadie, what the hell happened to you?" the woman at the reception desk asked.

Sadie gave the woman a piercing stare, squeezing out her hair and adding to the growing puddle around her.

"Hey, now, look here, someone's gonna slip in that shit," the receptionist continued.

"Save it Bev. I'm soooo not in the mood for any speeches today. I have to work the rest of the day like this, and I'm not particularly looking forward to it. Plus, Richard has been waiting to serve me my own head on a platter, this is just the excuse he needs, me being late coming back from lunch," said Sadie.

"Don't worry dear, you look like a chunk of seaweed washed up on shore, but I'll fix you up."

The receptionist hurried away and returned from a supply closet with towels. One she handed to Sadie, the other she tossed onto the floor and used her foot to mop up the rain water.

"Thanks Bev, you really are a life-saver. Although, how I can face clients looking like this…" Sadie's voice trailed off as she looked down at her damp clothes and waved her arms to accentuate the worst accepts of the scene.

"Oh, go home honey. Take a nap and I'll back you up. Say you met a client for lunch, it ran late, and you got caught in the rain."

"Ahhhhh-cho," sneezed Sadie.

"There. Proving my point already."

Suddenly a man came around the corner and stopped in his tracks to take in the scene.

"Hhh-ee-yy Richhhh-ard," Sadie stammered, "Iiiii got cccc-aught in the rain w-w-w-with a client, an-n-nd…"

"Yes. I can see that. Well, you're a mess. Go home and get cleaned up," said Richard.

"Thank you sir, I'll…" started Sadie, but Richard interrupted her.

"Don't bother coming back tomorrow. You're fired."

Richard turned and rushed away, leaving Sadie standing with Bev in front of the reception desk. Sadie turned to Bev and handed her the towel and stepped out of the office and back into the rain, walking to her apartment that was four blocks away.

She got inside, soaking wet, and headed straight for the bedroom. Sadie flopped onto the bed and closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. And before long it did. She tossed and turned, her dreams filled with visions of her boss so calmly stating that she was fired. Sadie was replaying in again when the dream shifted. The same dark figure began gliding toward Sadie. She screamed, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," and sat up in bed with a jerk. But the nightmare didn't end, for hovering over her bed was the same dark figure with acidic orange eyes. The 'no' that had trailed off when she woke up started again. It was long, continuous, and painful. A whimper escaped Sadie's lips as something gritty was tossed into her eyes. She could barely see, but what she did see confused her and scared her even more.

"Richard, wha…why…how?"

The glint of an axe blade was suddenly visible at his side. He lifted it and began swinging it at Sadie. She leapt out bed and began a frenzied attempt at escape, pounding windows, walls, and furniture. She seemed to see nothing and finally ended up being chased back onto the bed. Richard's axe came down on her neck and she reached for the bedpost to get away; terror written on her face.

Meanwhile, the hooded figure remained in the corner, waiting for the life to slowly creep out of the woman on the bed, whose face was distorted in fear. The whites of her eyes were a blackish-brown in the light blue glow of the alarm clock that read 3:02 am. Sadie was thoroughly beaten and bloody, but otherwise whole…

* * *

Across town Sam and Dean were entering the morgue many hours after the Sanham interview. The day had been pouring rain all day but it did not deter Sam and Dean. They were waiting for the right time for their visit. It was well after 2:00 am; the perfect time to find a less then enthusiastic coroner who didn't ask many questions and who would likely let the Winchesters do the job they came to do. The morgue itself was a gloomy place with grey cement flooring and stainless steel tables and cabinets throughout. Both Dean and Sam could hear the echo of their footsteps, it was so empty. A white cloth covered a lump on one of the steel tables that they were approaching. Two feet protruded from the sheet and one toe was roped with a yellow tag.

Dean grabbed the toe tag to read it, "Hmmmm, not our gal. But check this name out Sammy, Don Juan. Either this coroner has a sense of humor or this guy's parents did."

Dean lifted to top of sheet to look at the dead man's face.

"Poor Bastard was no Don Juan. He looks more like Swiss cheese now, what'd he do? Take a header off a ten story building into a pile of rocks or swim with piranhas? My money's on the piranhas," joked Dean.

He pulled the sheet further back to show Sam the disfigured face. Huge chucks of flesh were missing from the man's face. His nose was completely gone and one empty eye socket stared at them.

Suddenly, a voice rang out in the morgue, riddled with contempt and annoyance.

"If you'd bothered to read the tag, you'd have seen that your so called 'poor bastard' was a homeless man who died on the streets and whose body wasn't picked up before the rats got to him. Now, who the hell are you two and what the hell are you doing in my morgue," the coroner asked.

"See? What'd I tell you about the sense of humor?" smirked Dean.

"Not helping," muttered Sam, "Sorry, Sir. Meant no disrespect for the dead. We're with the CDC, I'm Agent Phelps and this is my partner, Agent Hunt."

Sam pulled out his badge, as did Dean.

"What, like 'Mission Impossible' agents?" snorted the coroner.

Sam looked at Dean and raised his eyebrows, with a look that clearly said 'I told you so.'

"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir. If you say so…it's a hell of a coincidence. So, like Agent Phelps was saying, we're here on official business," said Dean, his voice dripping with sickly charming sarcasm and eyes bright with amusement at the catch the coroner had made with the names.

"Oh yeah? And what business is that, smartass?" demanded the coroner.

"We're looking into the deaths of some people. They would have all had the same M.O. It's the possible serial killer case with the odd substance in the victim's eyes. The CDC thinks that the substance could possibly be some type of chemical agent that is either being used by the killer or is found naturally in the area and is causing the deaths of these individuals, or it may even be some type of communicable disease. The third case was what caught our attention: Mrs. Jennifer Sandham," said Sam.

"Pretty lady, that one. Or at least she was until whatever it was happened to her. Jenny was one of them in this area that I determined to be linked with those strange deaths. They started a few months ago, ya know. First one was David Stillman. When he showed up it was the oddest damn death I'd ever seen, and I've seen a lot of things here."

"Is it possible for us to see the records on these deaths, Doctor…?" asked Sam.

" Singlad, Dr. Singlad. Sure, I guess. If it's for the CDC," said Singlad.

"What about these deaths is so strange to you?" asked Dean.

"Hah, it'd be easier to say what's NOT bizarre about these deaths. Like I said, the first was David Stillman, the other two where Bob Balenger and Jenny Sandham. Here's the report on them."

He handed the manila folders to Sam and glanced at Dean.

"It's all in there, every gory detail."

Sam flipped through the folder, skimming the details of each case. Dean walked over and took the folder from Sam, who only rolled his eyes.

"So, what's with the stuff in the eyes?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, I saw that you were unable to identify the substance," said Sam.

"It's the damnedest thing. I've never seen anything like it. Ever. It has a similar texture and make up as regular old sand. But it seems to have LSD-like qualities, yet it's not that. There's also no reason why any of them should have died either. Unless heart failure due to pure terror is common in 20 to 30 something's."

"So, strange shit, huh?" said Dean.

"What Agent Hunt means, sir, is that the substance is something that we should take a sample of for testing."

"Yeah, because we have a crack chemistry set in the car with us."

"We'll take it back to headquarters, along with copies of these files, please."

"Sure, fine by me, if I not responsible for this mess I'll feel much better."

Singlad took the files form Dean's hands and made copies quickly. Just as he was returning with the papers an ambulance pulled up to the morgue bay. Two paramedics got out and brought in a black-plastic wrapped body on a gurney.

"We got another one," said one of the paramedics.

"Not again! Ok, drop it off."

"It's a female, Latino, late twenties to early thirties. Name's Sadie Rodriguez. Just glad to get rid of the damn thing. These deaths give me the creeps."

The paramedics lifted the body onto another one of the tables and left. Singlad turned to Sam and Dean, "Well, there you go. Direct from the crime scene. Ya wanna look since we didn't have any of the other bodies?"

Dean looked at Sam and they both turned and nodded their heads. It wasn't going to be anything worse then what they'd seen before.

In the bag lay the woman, Sadie. Her eyes were wide open with a look of horror. They were no longer normal but instead laced with a gritty substance that made them almost black in color. Her face was not only distorted in terror, but had so many cuts and bruises on it that it really barely had any skin on it anymore. Some bone was visible on her check.

"She looks like she got beat up," said Sam.

"She looks it, but as far as I can tell with all of 'em, it's all self inflicted."

With a last glance at the body of Sadie Rodriguez, Sam and Dean returned to the Impala. Inside the car they both thought about what they had just seen.

"I don't know Dean, but this case really isn't feeling like a demon at all. I mean, scaring people to death? Not a demon's style at all. They'd rather torture and kill."

"Yeah, but having them beat themselves to death might be something that a demon would get its jollies from."

"Maybe we should call Bobby; he mighta seen something like this before."

"Couldn't hurt, he'll only tell us we're idjits for not thinking of something else sooner."

Sam smiled and grabbed his cell to make the call, leaving a message when Bobby didn't answer. The Impala continued to speed along the deserted highway, heading for the Pink Flamingo Hotel that they were currently calling home.


	6. Chapter 6 Sandman

The gravel crunched under the tires of the Impala as it settled into it's parking space at the hotel. Both Sam and Dean were weary from the road and all the research they had done over the course of twenty-four hours. They were both grim faced as they slide out of the car and walked up to the door with 34 in rusted gold across the front of it. Sam was carrying his laptop and their father's hunting journal, while Dean had a duffel bag and the Impala's keys in hand.

"You gonna open the door Sam?"

"Me? I thought you had the key!"

"No, I distinctly remember giving you the freakin' key, now cough it up."

"Dean, I'd remember that, you still have it."

Dean glared at Sam but he put down the duffel bag and searched his jacket and jeans pockets for any sign of the key to the hotel room. Sure enough, tucked away on the right inside of his jacket, there was a small room key with a flamingo shaped key ring that read 34 in white pealing numbers.

"Yahtzee."

Sam's look said 'I told you so,' but before he could get the words out Dean raised his hand up to Sam's face.

"Don't go there dude. It's been a long day in hell and I'm beat. I swear right now if so much as a friggin' possessed gerbil comes in here, I'm blowing it away, no questions asked."

"Gerbil?"

"What? It could happen. That one demon possessed a cat in that movie. The one with Denzel Washington."

Dean picked up his duffel bag and shoved the key into the hotel door's lock, pushing the door open and holding it so Sam could get in without dropping anything.

"That's a movie Dean."

"Hey, I ain't takin' no chances. You ever see those gerbils with their beady little eyes that are all black? And some even go for your eyes. Maybe they're already possessed!"

Sam entered the hotel and placed his laptop on the desk, turning it on to continue researching, but still shaking his head at Dean's gerbil logic. Suddenly his cell phone began to ring. He snatched it from his pocket and answered it.

"Bobby."

"Yeah Sam I got your message on the case you're working. Thinkin' maybe ya boys are barking up the wrong tree."

"Ok, open to suggestions."

"What's he saying?" asked Dean.

Sam tilted his head slightly as if to shake away Dean's question and held up his hand, mouthing 'Read between the lines.'

"Yo…," Dean began then decided against it. He grabbed the pistol tucked in the back of his waistband and sat down. Before long the gun was pulled apart and he was cleaning it, listening to a one-sided conversation of 'uh-hm's' and 'um's', with a few 'sure's' and 'got it's' thrown in for good measure. Finally Sam snapped the cell phone shut. Dean's head whipped up from his work.

"So what'd Master Bobby have to say, you are not wise, young grasshopper? Or was it more along the lines of Colonel Mustard with the wrench in the conservatory?"

"Save it Dean, I've got an idea…"

"You're thinking under that shaggy mop, Bobby Brady?"

Sam just ignored him and started tapping at the keyboard on his laptop, muttering to himself, "I can't believe I didn't think of this…it's too obvious…Bobby was right…c'mon page, load…let's see…"

"Sam, only crazy people talk to themselves, ya know? C'mon, what'd Bobby say?"

"That we're dumbasses."

Dean smirked, "Sounds like Bobby alright, what else?"

"That we're going about this all wrong."

"I thought that was covered with the dumbasses comment."

"No, look at this…we've been thinking it's some kind of funky ass demon getting it's jollies off of killing people while they are sleeping. Bobby thinks it's actually some kind of creature.

"What, the evil sleep fairy? It's gonna bop you on the head with it's pixie wand and make you bloody?"

Sam looked up with a mocking grin and then dived back into the computer.

"No, it really makes sense Dean. There are myths and legends in a variety of cultures about a creature or god that helps people sleep and dream or that terrorizes people with nightmares and waking visions of horror. It goes by many names, Hans Christian Andersen had it as a kindly creature who gave dreams to a young boy. In that story it was known as Ole Lukøje. There are Greek myths of the dream god Morpheus and another German story called Der Sandmann that relates how the creature would throw sand in the eyes, causing them to fall out and by collected by the creature to feed it's children. No one knows where the myth originated."

"Wait a minute. You talking about a Sandman? As in old man who carries bag of sand to put children to sleep?"

"That's how you know him Dean, but really, the Sandman myth was thought to be used to control children because parents explained that he would come in the night if they didn't sleep. Depending on the culture, the myth might have the Sandman steal their eyes after tossing sand into them, hit them over the head with a bag of sand, or bury them in sand so that it crushed them to death."

"Guess that's why he's not as popular as Santa and the Easter Bunny."

"Well, it does make him a bit less lovable and cuddly Dean. Just over the years parent's stopped scaring the crap out of kids with tales of monsters under the bed but there was always truth in those stories."

"And the Sandman got civilized over the years. Got it. So, there anything in the myths on how to kill it? Like dump water on him and he falls apart?"

"He's not really made of sand, Dean. This isn't Spiderman. Although the myths involving Greek and Norse sleep gods say they can only be killed by another god there seems to be no other information on how to kill it."

Dean shrugged, "So we'll figure it out as we go. Or just plug its ass full of rock salt and see if that happens to work. These mythical creatures always have some kind of weakness."

"Problem is, I'm not sure how to track it or how it's picking its victims. It all seems so random."

"You know what that means, Sammy. You get to dig around some more on that glorified typewriter and I've gotta check out the locals and see what evil shit they got themselves into."

Dean kicked off his boots and dropped onto the bed.

"Of course, this is all first thing tomorrow, 'cause you're getting a little bitchy without your beauty sleep Sam."

"Bite me," said Sam, but he pushed down the laptop's screen and walked over to the second bed, clicking off the light and kicking off his boots as he went.

_Tomorrow, _thought Sam, _first thing tomorrow we'll get this damn thing, this 'Sandman,' before it takes another innocent life. _


	7. Chapter 7 Camping Trip

The small blue and grey tent squatted among the trees in the historic Freetown-Fall River Forest. A propane lamp was all the light the tent and its occupants had in the cover of darkness for the campfire set by the couple sleeping in the tent had long since gone out and the lamp was set on low as a nightlight during this time of the new moon. One person in the tent seemed to be unable to sleep, tossing and turning all during the night. A soft snapping sound seemed to come from the trees and made the restless person sit up in the doorway of the tent. From the light of the lamp the figure's silhouette was clearly male and his blood-shot eyes searched the night for the cause of the sound he had just heard. He strained his eyes but still couldn't make out a thing. Deciding that he couldn't sleep anyway the man got out of the tent, only to hear the figure next to him stir.

"Hmmmm. Honey, what's wrong? Why are you up?" asked the silhouette of a woman in the tent.

"It's nothing, Tina. Go back to sleep," he whispered to her.

"Oh, come back to bed Adam, please. I can't sleep without you next to me," said Tina.

"All right, all right. I'll come back to bed. It's just that I thought I heard something," Adam turned to look at the woods again then began to turn back to face Tina. Suddenly Adam caught an orange glow out of the corner of his eye. A chill went up and down his spine and Adam took a moment to collect him self. He turned back again and stared for a few seconds more, thinking maybe it was an animal. But there was nothing there. He climbed back into the tent.

"Did you see any orange?"

"Orange? Like what? A traffic cone? Leaves?" she laughed slightly, "Honey, it's just your imagination from sleep deprivation. You really should take something for that, it's been an issue for a while. And you probably just saw the moon in the trees…"

"Maybe," said Adam, thinking that there WAS no moon that night, "I'm just thinking about the history of this place. I was drawn to it for its creepy past, but now it's just sorta adding to my insomnia."

"Which part of the 'creepy past:' The part with the Native American ghosts of the Wampanoag Nation or the part about the murders that occurred here? Or maybe you don't like the crazed dogs that showed up suddenly or the Satanic cult that had dealings here?" Tina teased him.

"Oh shut up," said Adam, rolling his eyes.

He grabbed the sleeping bag edge and pulled it overtop of him, finally falling into a fitful sleep. It was the first night he had the dream about the cloaked figure with fiery orange eyes.

The next morning Tina was awakened by the muffled sound of Adam screaming into his pillow.

"My god, Adam, what's wrong?" she asked, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him.

Adam's arms and legs flailed in the tangled mess of his sleeping bag as he struggled to awaken. Finally, he shot up and grabbed hold of Tina's arm.

"Ouch, you're hurting me!"

She looked at Adam with questioning eyes and slid his hand off of her arm.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Tina, oh god."

Adam withdrew his hand from midair, where it was grasping nothing now that Tina had removed it. His eyes were slightly glazed over and he turned both his hands palms up and stared at them, brow furrowed and mouth downturned. Tina's eyes were filled with both concern and slight annoyance at Adam's strange behavior.

"You wanna tell me what the hell is going on? One minute you can't sleep and the next I can't get you up and you're screaming like a freakin' banshee."

"I don't know exactly what happened. The dream was fine, at first. Just me an' the guys hangin' out, playing some cards. Then it changed somehow. Weird. There was this…thing."

"Thing Adam? What the hell."

"It was there, in my dreams, or at least, it seemed like it was there. This thing, this creature, it came for me, and me alone. It wanted something. Damn, it was the freakin' creepiest dream I've had in ages. But it was just that I guess; a dream. It just was so vivid. Hard to tell what was real from what wasn't real. I still feel like I'm there…" Adam's voice trailed off.

Tina reached over and smacked his arm, then leaned in for a soft and sweet kiss.

"That real enough for ya?"

"Definitely. But let's pack up and leave this hell-hole behind today."

"Fine by me, Mr. Let's-Visit-a-Haunted-Forest."

Adam let her comment go and instead looked out into the woods at a tree with a steady orange glow emanating from around it's trunk on the left. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes, getting the rheum out of them. After blinking a few times he looked again at the forest. Nothing orange remained.

"Still dreaming," Adam mumbled.

"What was that dear?"

"Nothing, never mind. Just help me get the tent down, will ya?"

* * *

"Heat of the moment" sang the alarm clock.

Sam shot up in bed, arms and legs flying, and slapped the clock reading 7:00am. He quickly looked over at Dean on the other bed, who was still half asleep. Sam rubbed his eyes and tried to focus and think:_ This was NOT Tuesday, right? No…it was Thursday. Dean was fine and they were not in that crappy hotel. They were in another crappy hotel in Massachusetts. _

Sam got up from the bed and grabbed the alarm clock, yanking the plug from the outlet on the wall. The bright green light that read 7:02am blinked off and Sam quickly stepped to the window and pulled it open and quickly heaved the alarm clock out. A couple that had just exited the hotel room two doors down just stared. Sam gave them a quick smile, grimaced to himself, and then shut the window down.

"So, you got a problem with Asia, Sam?"

"Shut up, Dean! You know very well what I went through during that Tuesday loop. You'd be the same."

"Jumpy as a girl at her first high school dance? I don't think so. But you do make a good girl, Sam."

Sam glared at Dean, "Oh really? So you'd be fine with watching me die multiple times in various impossible situations?"

"See, the difference is, I wouldn't let it go on for as long as you did, I'd have figured it out sooner."

"Says the man who was eaten by a Golden Retriever."

"He was hungry…dog has a right to live too, ya know."

"Just drop it. We have more important things to do today. Figuring out where the Sandman stalks and how he picks his victims for starters."

"Right, Mister 'Bring Me a Dream – That Kills Me.' You know, each time I think I've said the oddest thing in my entire life. Then we reach a new level. So, what do you think the trigger is, Scooby Doo?"

"Well, from my research the entities attach themselves to a person with a particular trait they are looking for. So we just need to find out what they all had in common and where they all went that's in common."

"Oh, is _that_ all? Sandman stalks the mini-mart and picks his victims off there, picking only the people who don't by veggies of some kind?"

"Well, I doubt it's that heavily trafficked a place, but yeah. That's the general idea. And it could take weeks for the effects to be felt."

"So we need to ask more of the victim's loved ones where they stayed in the past year? Didn't we already do this once before? They are going to be pissed, Sam! You're doing that house call, Dr. Kevorkian."

"Well, we've only talked with Mr. Sandham and Dr. Singlad. And I'm sure he wouldn't mind an extra visit by the CDC, right? And that still leaves us with David Stillman's family and Bob Balenger's. Oh, and Sadie's family too. Can't forget her."

"Who could. Chick looked like she'd been beat up by Rocky."

"Well, who do you wanna start with?"

"I'd go for the most recent vic, Sadie. People'd remember the most from her."

"Let's go then."

They both grabbed their gear and headed for the Impala, the sun blocked by clouds, making the sky a sinister blackish color.


	8. Chapter 8 The Office

Several hours later Sam and Dean pulled up outside the law offices of Craig, Pole, and Silvers, where the late Sadie Rodriguez had worked. It was a twenty story building fully covered with glass windows. Both brothers were dressed in black suits and ties, brandishing their CDC badges as they walked to the receptionist, a B. Miller, across the ceramic-tiled floor.

"Ms. Miller , could you point us in the direction of Ms. Rodriguez's office and any coworkers that she associated with?" asked Dean, smiling sarcastically.

"What is all this about? What's the…," and she looked at the Winchester's badges, "CDC doing dealing with Sadie's case? And, excuse me, so damn soon? The poor dear was found dead last night and we were just told a few hours ago about her death."

"Well, ma'am, there have been many deaths similar to Sadie's and we were already in the area, so we are just trying to be through and be sure your friend and her family get the answers to all their questions, like they deserve," said Sam.

"Sadie didn't have no family, only an on again, off again boyfriend. And she didn't work here anymore either. Got fired the same day she died…do you think?"

"No ma'am. She definitely did not commit suicide. She was killed by someone or something she came into contact with, so don't worry," said Dean.

"Don't worry if there's a chemical or disease or just plain old killer? Yeah, sure. Shove that idea where the sun don't shine. Anyway, she kept to herself, Sadie did. I think I was about the only friend here at work she had, if you could call me a friend. Poor thing was on Richard's hit list all the time."

"Richard?" asked Sam.

"Oh, sorry, Richard Silvers, one of the partners at the firm. Sadie was a paralegal and for some reason she got on Richard's bad side right away and he didn't give her any quarter."

"So, Dick wasn't such a good man, ok, got it. Now, how about any strange behavior? Did she complain about any odd dreams? Sleep problems?" asked Dean.

"Hell yes, she had sleep problems. They didn't used to be so bad until recently. She went on vacation with her boyfriend, they were on again at the time, and when she came back she was a basket case."

"Oh, really? A basket case," said Dean.

"Full on crazy bitch going without sleep. Suffered from insomnia so bad from that point on that she went to sleep clinic after sleep clinic, and luckily we have the largest and best sleep clinic in the area right here in town, just down the street. But the sleep thing, it was really starting to affect her work, which is why Richard was on her case all the time, I guess."

"You know where we could get in touch with the boyfriend? A name, address, anything that would help us?" asked Sam.

"Sure, I keep track of the woman's love life. Right."

"Ma'am, we just figured that you're so knowledgeable and seem like such good friend to Sadie. Anything you could remember would be helpful. See, it's that kind of relationship with the victim that could result in illness transversal, if that's what this is. You'd be a regular hero with something as simple as a name…," lead Dean.

Bev Miller smiled and her eyes lit up as visions of heroic parades and medals filled her mind. She looked back and forth between Sam and Dean quickly, with a conspiratorial look on her face.

"Well, you didn't hear this from me, since they were 'off' again last I knew, but the guy's name was Michael Donne. They were all hot and heavy for a while, but once her sleep problems started to affect her more, Sadie said Michael became a real jackass. He told her to snap out of it and sleep. I mean, honestly, 'snap out of it'? Not very compassionate, right?"

"No, not at all Ms. Miller, he seems like a poor excuse for a boyfriend. Thank you for your time and all the information. This will help us and possibly keep a dangerous, communicable disease from spreading. Your country thanks you for this service," said Dean, flashing an agreeable smile and then looking over to Sam. Dean inclined his head toward the door, while Sam shook his head slightly.

"Yes, thank you ma'am, now, about Ms. Rodriguez's office…"

Dean glared at Sam and began to shake his head, but realized that the receptionist was watching, so he decided that he'd better play along or risk getting kicked out or even called in to verify their IDs.

"Right, good call partner. Wouldn't want to have to return here again and upset the workday."

"You both are so sweet for CDC officers. Here, I'll show you her office, it's on the second floor. Basically a damn broom closet. Harry Potter had more room in his cupboard under the stairs."

She lead them to the office, her heals clicking on the floor to the elevator. They waited for the elevator doors to open, the Winchester's staring at their feet while Bev looked up at the highlighted yellow arrows, indicating the elevator was on its way down. Finally there was a ding and the doors slid open. All three moved into the small space, with Bev pressing the number two button with one of her long red fingernails. She smiled at Sam and Dean. Finally the elevator reached its destination. Once again Bev clicked ahead of the Winchester's and opened the third door on the right, revealing an extremely small and crowded office.

"There you are. Have fun. You know where to find me."

With that Bev left Sam and Dean to go through Sadie's office belongings.

"The woman is a saint. And obviously doesn't give a damn about personal property or privacy rights. I kinda like her," said Dean.

"Well, I'm glad she didn't mind spilling every little detail about her coworker's life. It sure helped us, our next stop should be the boyfriend."

"The 'off again' boyfriend Sam. The devil is in the details. So, what are we doing here?"

"I figure she'd have his cell phone number, address, and maybe some information about where they went on vacation and her appointments at the sleep clinic. We should visit all those locations."

"So, find the shit and let's get outta here before Ms. Miller comes back with reinforcements since we didn't promise to get her on Oprah."

Sam rummaged through Sadie's desk while Dean looked in her file cabinets.

"Oh, little black book, hidden in the files!" said Dean, shoving into his pocket.

"Here's her date book with all her appointments at the sleep clinic."

They searched around the office for a while but found nothing else of value. The items well hidden, they went to the main floor and nodded a goodbye to the receptionist. As they entered the Impala Dean glanced at Sam.

"Where to now?"

"Head to the boyfriend's place Dean. He'll be able to tell us more about her sleeping habits, and somehow I think that's tied to the Sandman…"

"Ya think, Einstein? Sleep issues, sleep clinic, asshole boyfriend. There could be something there."

Dean ducked into the vehicle and Sam opened the passenger side door and got into the Impala too.

"To Mr. Donne's house. Think he'll be home, or are we gonna have to wait?" asked Sam.

"Screw waiting. I'll take a page outta Dr. House's book and break in for a little sneak peak. See what makes Mr. On-And-Off tick."

Sam shook his head as Dean drove to their next location. Dean gave the Impala some gas and soon had left Craig, Pole, and Silvers Law Firm behind. The rain that had been threatening to fall all day started to come down, blurring the taillights as they sped away.


	9. Chapter 9 B & E

Slap, slap, slap. The wipers worked overtime on the windshield to remove the white sheet of rain from the driver's line of vision. The pavement of the road was accumulating the rain water, and the puddles that were forming caused the black vehicle to hydroplane.

"Damn it!" shouted Dean, his grip tightened on the steering wheel as the tires slide along the asphalt. The Impala was headed for the embankment along the side of the road as Dean struggled to straighten out the car. With a few deft movements he was able to get it back on the road.

"That was kinda close, maybe you should slow it down," noted Sam as he loosened his grip on the seat, "so that we don't, um, DIE, on the way to Michael's house."

"Lighten up Sammy, my baby can handle it and I'm like Junior behind the wheel." Dean managed a quick glance away from the road to smirk at his brother before focusing once again on the ever increasingly dangerous driving conditions.

"My God, you'd think it was monsoon season here the way the rain is coming down. How much further to Mikey's house?" Annoyance rang in Dean's voice and Sam knew that the road conditions were worse then Dean would let on.

"Well, according to Mapquest, we should turn right at the next intersection and that'll lead into a subdivision where Mr. Donne lives." Sam held the laptop in a manner that allowed Dean to see the screen.

"You wanna decode the squiggly lines on the shiny screen, not point at them?"

"Another mile and a half you turn, that clear enough for you?"

Dean grunted acknowledgement of the directions and guided the Impala down the side road and to the house they were looking for. It was a two story gray house with a large white porch and a connected two car garage. The driving rain still hadn't let up so both Winchester's made quickly went up to the garage to look for signs of a vehicle. Both spots were empty.

"Good sign he's still at work or something," commented Dean as they headed to the house door.

"It's after 4 pm, so we don't have too long to wait for him to come back," Sam knocked on the door as he spoke. Dean, however, was already reaching for his lock-picking kit in his back pocket. With a pick in each hand he twisted the lock on the door and with a _ping_ the lock was sprung and the door opened. A sliver of light shown through the opening and Dean looked up at Sam with a self-pleased look on his face.

"Ok, let's see what 'On Again, Off Again' dude is really like when no one is watching his sorry ass." Dean shoved open the door and barged into the house.

"Dean, we can't just break and enter into a person's house, how will we explain it if Michael comes back?"

"Live a little Sammy, it always works on TV shows. Besides, we can just whip out those CDC badges and claim his house is a health hazard." Dean glanced around the bachelor pad, "And it ain't too far from the true. You thought I was a pig? This man would give Martha Stewart enough work to last for a year or two…hell, probably three!"

Despite the house's neat outward appearance the inside was totally trashed. Dirty clothes lay everywhere, as did used dishes with crusted on food, fast-food wrappers, and a layer of dust on the furniture. "Now _this_ is Darwinism, Sam."

"We knew he was an ass, now we know that he's not neat-freak. But Dean, I don't think that qualifies him as a demon."

"What? He could be the demon of unkempt houses."

Suddenly the front door swung open and in walked Michael Donne. He glanced at the door with a puzzled look, "I coulda swore I locked the…," he turned and saw the Winchesters in the kitchen area, "Who the hell are you two?" he exclaimed, whipping out his cell phone and heading for the door his fingers moving over the numbers nine and one.

"Wait! Mr. Donne, we're with the CDC," Dean quickly pulled out his badge and flashed it at Michael, "We were worried when we saw your door was open, considering the circumstances, and thought that there might be a problem."

"Right," chimed in Sam, catching on to Dean's train of thought, "You did know a Sadie Rodriguez and we regret to inform you that she died from an odd health occurrence. So, when we saw the door open we were unsure if the same thing that killed her had struck you."

"Sadie's dead? Well, I haven't seen her in the past few weeks. We sorta ran hot and cold, you know how it is…but I never would have guessed anything was wrong. Wait, you said a health issue, is it catching? Am I in danger?"

"Oh, this guy's a real winner," whispered Dean to Sam, who ignored his comment and continued his line of questioning with Michael, "No, we don't think so. Now, she was having sleep issues, wasn't she?"

"Yeah, but, what kind of health issues?" Michael looked between the two men with a confused expression.

"Dude, you're fine, it's Sadie who's dead and since you haven't been around her for a while, you haven't got a thing to worry about. Now, Sadie's sleep issues," probed Dean, annoyance with the guy clearly written on his face.

"Yeah, she kept having bad nightmares. Thought they were real sometimes or something. I honestly couldn't stand the bitch's screaming. She went to some clinic to fix it, but I told her to tough it out and stop being such a wimp. I mean, it's just nightmares, right?" Michael glanced between what he thought were two CDC officials, "So, you're sure I'm alright?"

Sam sighed while Dean rolled his eyes.

"You're fine sir, and if you think of anything regarding Sadie and her sleep issues, let us know." Sam handed him a card with his cell phone number.

Dean and Sam left the house.

"That was a total waste of time. That bastard didn't know a darn thing about Sadie, so I say we check the sleep clinic. After all, we are dealing with a Sandman. Seems like a match made in hell, right?" Dean entered the Impala and slammed the door shut.

"Makes sense, Sandman uses the sleep clinic as a stomping ground. But we did have to rule out the ex as a demon with a grudge on Sadie and using the other deaths as cover."

"We came, we saw, we didn't kick any evil Sandman ass. Next stop, sleeptown. Think any hot chicks'll be there in some cute pj's dreaming away the night?"

"Dean, you're impossible." Sam shook his head at Dean's one track mind regarding women, "Just drive."

Once again they were traveling the road, this time on their way to the now infamous sleep clinic that Sadie had frequented before her death.


	10. Chapter 10 Sleep Clinic

A six-story building loomed in front of the Winchesters as they stepped out of the Impala and slammed its doors. Evening fast approached and lights turned on in the parking lot. The building was cast into shadows and looked more like a large, metropolitan hospital then a sleep clinic. The building was large and a whitish grey color, with hundreds of windows, each with its drapes shut to block out sunlight. Cold and impersonal, it towered above the rest of the buildings in the immediate area. Sam and Dean entered the building and once again approached another receptionist, but this time, the woman looked like she could be a linebacker.

A cheeky Dean swaggered up to her and glanced at the nameplate perched on the desk, "Hello Ms. Archibald. We're CDC agents here looking into a rash of odd deaths that have been labeled as murders but that we believe are really some sort of infectious disease. We've traced it back to here."

Sam gave Dean a scathing look, which clearly said he'd not made any friends with the woman by insulting her place of work. Sam cleared his throat, "What my partner here means, is that we want to make sure that this facility is in the clear and can continue to do it's job helping people with serious sleep disorders."

Ms. Archibald raised an eyebrow, and then went on in a droning voice, "Place your ID's on the scanner over here and wait for Dr. Nox. He'll guide you around the facility. The receptionist ponderously grabbed for the ID's and the phone, then proceeded to page Dr. Nox while fumbling with the CDC name badges.

Meanwhile, Sam and Dean huddled together and spoke in harsh whispers.

"Man, I don't like this at all, what if Dr. Nox is around when the sleep psychopath shows up?" muttered Dean, with some anger and concern in his voice.

"What if Dr. Nox IS the Sandman, Dean? Or is controlling it? We just don't know the situation yet, so we need to play by the rules and see if he can at the least point us in the right direction," criticized Sam.

Just then a balding, watery-eyed man in a white lab coat appeared from around the corner. He smiled warily and held out his hand, which both Winchester's shook.

"I'm Dr. Nox, I'll be leading you around the facility today…what exactly are you looking for?"

"Well, Doctor, there have been a lot of deaths in the area and we, in conjunction with the police, are investigating every possible angle. This just happens to be one of them," intoned Sam.

"Yeah, Doc, we're just here to cover your asses in case it is something coming outta this lovely place you got here," Dean sniggered.

Dr. Nox looked coldly at Dean, but sighed and flatly said, "This way."

He droned on and on about the sleep clinic, losing Dean from the words, "established in 1908 by a apothecary," thus missing the line about how the apothecary was, "concerned with sleeping issues of the townspeople and believed that demons were not to blame."

Suddenly the clinic became a flurry of activity.

"Paging Dr. Nox to observation room 313, Paging Dr. Nox to observation room 313, code blue," sang out an overhead system. Dr. Nox suddenly came alive and quickly turned on his heel away from the hallway he and the Winchesters were currently heading down.

"I have to go, there's an emergency. We have several patients with sleep apnea. They stop breathing at night. Normally they start up again but it looks like this one hasn't," Dr. Nox breathed out the words in a rush and then started running down the hall.

Dean glanced over at Sam and grinned, "Perfect."

"Perfect? A man or woman is not breathing and you think it's perfect?" questioned an incredulous Sam.

"It was bound to happen, Sammy, just call it lucky that it happened at a time when we could search the area on our own, and say we have Dr. Nox's permission. If that ain't perfect, I don't know what is!" a jubilant Dean voiced as he pulled out his homemade EMF Walkman.

Sam took one look at the machine and burst out laughing, choking back the snorts of laughter, he finally managed to stammer out, "You…brought…that….here?"

"Hey, it still works after all these years, so hell yeah I brought it here!" pronounced Dean.

The two began to walk around the clinic with the EMF reader, probing corridors and dark areas where a sinister creature might hide out in the stillness of the night with hundreds of easy targets.

"There are too many damn floors, Dean," complained Sam, "We should split up a little, it'd go a lot faster."

Dean shook his head, "I'm keeping me eye on you little brother, you find more trouble then a fox in a hen house. Speaking of hens," his glanced slid to the young woman on the bed, her face smiling slightly with a pleasant dream or memory that the Winchesters were not privy to.

Right at that moment the EMF Walkman began to buzz quietly and indicate a spirit, creature, or demon was nearby.


	11. Chapter 11 Exit Sandman?

"Shit!" exclaimed Dean, his hands wrapping around the device and his legs already in motion for the end of the hallway and he shouted over his shoulder, "Sam, come on, it's down at the opposite end of the freakin' hall."

Sam took off after Dean and both were soon breathing heavily as they rushed to reach the room before the Sandman slaughtered his next victim. Dean reached the door first and rammed it with his shoulder to bust the lock, ignoring the spasm of pain that this effort caused. Sam skidded to a halt to the left of Dean and both took stock of the sight before them. In a bed lay a woman with slightly graying hair. There were laugh lines and frown lines on her face, showing that she'd lived, loved and lost. She had once been hooked up to a monitor for all sorts of vitals to be observed by the doctors, but now the machines were shut off. The woman was still asleep but not with any type of good dreams, that was obvious as her face was contorted with pain and fear. Unknown to her, and her doctors now that the monitors were off, a wraith-like creature sat atop of the woman's chest. The being seemed to whip up a frenzy in the sleeping woman, making her scream in terror, writhing on the bed. Her breathing became more labored and in shorter rasps for air.

The Winchester's surveyed the scene quickly and drew out their weapons of choice, which they never traveled without. Sam clutched a knife blessed in holy water, it's sharp straight blade already aimed for the wraith's core, where in a human the heart would be. Dean wasted no time in pulled out the demon-killing Colt, which they had finally been able to retrieve after much tracking, and another pistol loaded with rock salt, the spirit repellent of choice in firearms. Cool resolve swept throughout the room as the Winchester's made their move on the Sandman creature. The tall black-cloaked figure turned to face its assailants. A clawed hand protruded from the cloak and under the hood no visible face could be seen.

Dean fired round after round of the Colt's bullets at the creature, forcing it to tumble off the woman. Sam came to her aid, checking to see if she was still breathing. Meanwhile, Dean's actions did nothing to slow the wraith down. It recovered quickly and advanced toward Dean and clutched him around the neck, shoving him hard against the wall. Dean gasped for air, trying to angle the rock-salt gun in a manner that would hit the creature but unable to move his arm. Lack of oxygen began to make Dean more desperate and his eyes were glazing over.

"Dean!" roared Sam as he rushed over with the knife to help his older brother, rage evident on his face.

"Little help, Sammy," choked out Dean, who couldn't keep the growing fear and panic out of his weakening voice. His hands groped at the creatures hands for release, for a breath of air. Blood began to flow around his neck as the creature dug in.

Sam came around the back and, reaching around, plunged the knife into the creature's hooded face, and it reeled backwards, howling in pain. However, it was still able to pin Sam underneath its body. Sam winced as the wind was knocked out of him. He felt himself losing consciousness and was already beginning to see mind-numbing nightmares of death and destruction. Icicles of fear wrapped around his heart and made his mind go blank, seeing only the nightmare the creature was forcing upon him.

Dean slid down the wall, still trying to catch his breath but determined to come to Sam's aid. His face was grim, mouth set in a determined line as he forced himself off the wall and charged at the creature, firing the pistol filled with rock salt. His resolve didn't wavier; the need to protect Sam was strong. Two shots told him all he needed to know.

"This bastard isn't fully corporeal, Sam," Dean wore a triumphant grin on his face as the Sandman wraith disappeared in a whirl of translucent white vapor.

Sam grabbed at his chest and attempted to stand up with Dean's help. The pain from his chest was evident on his face but Sam quickly gathered his wits and reached down to pick up his knife off the floor from where it had fallen. As he straightened back up his eyes widened in shock as the Sandman rematerialized behind Dean. Before Sam could so much as utter a cry the wraith-like being had twisted Dean around, slammed him to the floor, and sat on his chest. It was Dean's turn to feel the nightmarish grip of the creature. The hooded dark figure sent a breath of white mist at Dean's face and Sam moved quickly as Dean suddenly stopped moving. The cloaked creature didn't move off of Dean, try as Sam might to pummel it with the knife, but he couldn't reach the salt gun because it was between the creature and his brother.

Dean wasn't moving at all, except for his eyes, which bulged as he tried to force himself to move. Sam sobbed as his efforts continued to produce no change in the situation.

"_Evil son of a bitch! I will not go down like this, I will fight!" _ thought Dean, unable to voice any cries of anger, frustration, or fear. Trapped. Paralyzed from the Sandman creature on him that was crushing the life and breath from his very lungs.

"Dean, you can fight it," cried a distraught Sam. He made a last desperate attempt at the gun, using his full weight and a knife to the creature's face to dislodge it from Dean's chest.

The creature gave way ever so slightly and Sam made his move, landing on Dean and grabbing the gun, firing the last round into the creature. Once again it disappeared in a cloud of white haze as the rock salt hit its chest. Over on the bed, the woman began to stir, opening her eyes. She gave an involuntary gasp at the rather battered men in front of her who were struggling to stand up.

"Ma'am, we've got everything under control," wheezed Dean, who attempted to smile but ended it in a grimace of pain. He grabbed his gun from Sam, "Nice shootin' Tex."

She grabbed the bed sheet and pulled it up to her chin, shaking slightly from fear and exhaustion.

"Dean, I don't think it's gon…," began Sam, who stopped talking midsentence as the creature appeared behind her. Sam moved to pull the woman down off the bed while Dean quickly reloaded and leveled the gun at the creature, who was distracted by Sam's movement and the removal of the woman from its grasp. Dean moved in and fired off several more salt rounds.

Bang. Bang. Bang. One after another they pounded into the wraith, wisps of it flying in all directions. Dean charged ahead at the being, uncontrolled fury plainly visible on his face. Sam was dragging the woman off the hospital bed and they fell in a heap on the floor, Sam looking up to see if Dean was ok. The wraith was still hovering over the bed, definitely the worse for wear. It was more transparent than ever before and no longer made a move to attack anyone in the room. Standing less than two feet away Dean fired the final salt round. It struck the transparent creature square in the chest and shards of red light came through the opening. The Sandman gave a final shriek, the wail piercing the air and breaking the glass of the mirror in the corner over the sink. It flickered a few times, like an old movie projector skipping, and then exploded. Smoke from the gun drifted from the barrel and left the room in a slight haze.

"And that is how you get 'er done, Sammy. The Sandman will no longer bop children and insomniacs on the head with his bag of sand and then dig their eyes out with a spoon," quipped Dean.

"Sure, Dean, whatever you say," sighed Sam, helping the badly shaken woman back to her bed. He went on to assure the woman that everything was fine, that she'd just had a horrible nightmare, they were new night-staffers. The story went on for a while, but in the end he had her convinced.

"Good job, hell, you almost have me convinced that we're nice little helpers here at the clinic," mocked a now relieved Dean as they walked out of the sleep clinic.

"I don't know, Dean, it all seems a little too easy, killing a god has never been easy."

"You call that easy? I recall it had you in its ninja death grip."

"Say what you want, but I'm not so sure we're done here. Why'd it never attack our eyes?"

"Well, do what you want, I'm getting a beer and celebrating; maybe it had enough eyes for the month or only eats blue ones," Dean bickered back at Sam, ready to kick back, "I think we've earned some time off, head to a nice hotel with a couple of blondes…"

Sam settled into the Impala's comfortable seat and let Dean plan and scheme the night away, leaning his head back while reviewing the night's events, how amazingly easy his brother bounced back from a difficult hunt, and how the Sandman they had just gotten rid of didn't seem to fit the profile.

* * *

To be continued...


	12. Chapter 12 Death Becomes Him

On the other side of town there were other issues developing at the same time Sam and Dean were fighting for their lives. Adam and Tina had been back from their camping trip for about two days. It was night and the sheets on the queen-sized bed were being tossed off of the figure on the right.

"Damn it, Adam, I'm freezing here, I can't help it that you are a freakin' sauna, but at least let me have some warmth before I turn into the abominable snow monster," Tina complained as she grabbed at the sheets and pulled them over her form.

"It's not warmth," mumbled Adam, who was actually sweating, but it was a cold sweat that sent shivers down his spine and made his blood run cold. He'd had the nightmare again. Various people or hooded figures stalking him, strangling him, killing him. Each night it was getting worse, and each time he could see the orange in the…_thing's_…eyes for longer periods of time. Adam swung his legs over to the side of the bed and sat for a moment, rubbing his hand over his face and then scratching his head.

_Think, damn it, think! There has to be a logical explanation for all this. It's just dreams, that's all it is. But why is it so hard to tell dream from reality anymore?_ Adam pondered this for a few moments then propelled himself into motion, his bare feet padding across the carpeted floor. He went into the bathroom down the hall, splashing cold water on his face and staring at the pale, haggard reflection in the mirror. Tina had commented the other day that it looked like he wasn't getting any sleep.

"I'm not, not really," he whispered to himself in the mirror. Then he heaved a sigh that shook him and slightly slipped into the basement den to watch some TV on the coach, hoping that a change in scenery might help his freakishly worsening insomnia. The sound of the program finally put Adam into a fitful sleep a half hour later.

The den's door slowly began to shut of it's own accord, silently, making only a barely audible 'click' as the door locks made contact. In the far corner a shape began to emerge, hooded and dark. It began gliding over to the sleeping form of Adam, the room a hushed silence. It was the deadly calm before the storm and no one realized the peril that had just entered the room; certainly not Adam, who remained asleep on the couch. It's acidic orange eyes glowed with preternatural light that could only come from the depths of hell.

"Whaaaaattttt…," murmured Adam in his sleep, turning over to his side and propping the pillow up under his head.

The dark figure reached out a hand and picked up Adam's head.

"That's nice honey…NO, what the hell!!" screamed Adam as his eyes finally opened and he was face to face with the creature that was pressed down on top of him, making him unable to move as the monster reached into the dark robe around it and pulled out a handful of a grainy substance, tossing it into the man's eyes.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! What the hell? Get it out…oh my god, it burns, get it out!"

The creature backed away from Adam as he punched and kicked at thin air, tucking itself into the corner again, watching as a look of confusion swept over Adam's face as his burning eyes squinted to the base of the couch.

"What's wrong? Come help me," he began, at first seeming to trust whatever his eyes alone could see.

"What are you doing? NO, NO, NO!" a look of unadulterated fear crossed his face and he began to back away, falling off the couch and crawling like a frightened child on the floor. Adam was able to make his way to the door, and he clawed at the bottom of it, trying to open it, willing it to not be shut. He looked back and then started beating at the door with both his hands, shrieks of horror filling the room. A room that had recently been soundproofed to avoid disturbing anyone with TV noises in the rest of the house. Minutes ticked by and not much changed. The figure still hovered menacingly in the corner, watching Adam as he fought to get away from his unseen assailant.

Finally, he stilled, blood splattered all over the door and seeping under the door frame. Adam's eyes were wide in terror, his jaw slack, still trying to utter screams without any breath left in his lungs. His finger nails were lodged in the door, still trying to pull it open.

The figure began to slowly dissolve into the shadows, taking time to look back at the wrecked human figure that was clinging to the door, all life gone out of him and his eyes now a dull yellowish-brown color. No one was there to hear the hooded being chuckle at it's handiwork as it melded into the night, sweeping it's cloak away with a long-fingered hand.

* * *

Outside a dingy hotel room Sam was typing away at his computer. He'd left Dean with his "frisky blondes" in the hotel room and was NOT going to walk in on that. Apparently they were the "double-mint twins," at least that was what Dean had dubbed them. Dean may have been satisfied that the job was done, but Sam felt like there was something more to it and it pissed him off that he couldn't put his finger on exactly what was bothering him about their latest hunt.

"Hmmmm…Sandman, hooded, yep. Clawed hands, check. Attacks sleepers, uh-huh. Glowing orange eyes, che…wait a minute. That's something we didn't see," Sam continued gazing at his computer as he spoke in hushed tones to himself.

"If it doesn't have orange eyes, then it CAN'T be Sandman, oh shit! Dean's gonna be pissed that we didn't get it."

Sam continued to read from the articles in front of him, glancing now and again at the hunting journal that their father had created so long ago to find what had killed Mary, John's wife and the Winchester's mother. The tome held all that John had learned over the years in his hunts and it was now Sam and Dean's, to use as needed. Sam stopped at a stained page in the journal, the dark black word scrawled over repeatedly, as if John had tried to write through the paper in his anger or absentmindedness. The paper read:

**Wraith – **an apparition considered a portent of death and a spirit of pure vengeance existing in a parallel plane to humans. Tall, humanoid figures shrouded in black cloaks. No face is ever seen but clawed hands often visible, especially to victims or potential victims. They will destroy anything they encounter if they can. ** See also Subclass. **

Selkie

Changeling

Gnome

Kraken

Troll

Mara

Sam examined the listing and stopped when he read the final entry of Mara. That was the only one he wasn't familiar with, hell, they had already battled changelings before. But there was nothing in the journal about the subclass Mara.

"Damn it, dad, you couldn't have made this easy on us, huh?" Sam slammed the book down in favor of his laptop once again, glancing up at the hotel room window and seeing three shadowy figures illuminated by the light of a nightstand lamp onto the curtains.

"And damn you too, Dean," grumbled Sam in displeasure at his brother's obvious display as he punched at the keys in frustration.

However, Sam's search didn't take long, with the right keywords in place and soon he was reading all about Mara folklore in the online encyclopedia. He skimmed a few lines here and there until he finally got to the part that he wanted, reading to himself, "A Mara is a female wraith, usually of Scandinavian and Slavic lore, that causes nightmares. It is able to move through the smallest of openings, like a keyhole or the opening under a door. The Mara then proceeds to seat herself on the chest of her victim and "ride" the victim into nightmares, often causing them to be paralyzed and to suffocate in their sleep. Cousin to the demonic incubus and succubus."

"Well, that's it then," mused Sam as he grabbed his cell and called Dean's number.

"Dude, WHY are you calling me NOW? You know not to interrupt," Dean's voice had a tint of anger to it as he answered the phone and Sam could hear the girls in the background.

"Well, don't get your panties in a twist, but I got bad news."

"Bad news like you need to use the restroom in here or bad news like the end of the world is coming and you crashed the Impala Sammy?"

"Would you settle for in between?"

"Ok, whatcha got?" growled Dean into his cell phone and he pulled the curtain back to stare out at the Impala. Sam nodded his head to show that he could see Dean and acknowledged that Dean was paying attention to the conversation.

"We killed a Mara wraith Dean, not the Sandman."

"You're shitting me? I thought this case was freakin' over and now you're telling me Mr. Sand-gets-in-my-eyes is not sleeping on the sandy beach with the fishes? What the hell is a Mara anyway?"

Sam began to explain but Dean interrupted, "Whatever, nerd-boy, how is that different from a Sandman exactly?"

"No glowing eyes and they are ghosts with demonic properties while the Sandman is a creature. And there is the whole male/female thing. Do you need me to explain that to you Dean?"

Dean's head turned from the window back to his room and he chuckled into the phone, "Not at all Sammy, not at all…but I think YOU might be in need of that lesson."

Sam glowered at his phone and responded with a clipped, "Pack it up, let's leave at first light to investigate."

"What, and miss out on all the fun here?"

"I need to sleep tonight, Dean! You want me ready to hunt tomorrow, don't you?"

"I know you need you're beauty sleep but you'll have to make due with the Impala dude, you ain't getting in here tonight."

With that final statement Dean made a show of shutting the curtains and dead bolting the hotel room door shut. Sam got into the back seat and settled in for the night, thinking rather murderous thoughts about his promiscuous brother.


	13. Chapter 13 Flowers for Morpheus

The alarm clicked on in the hotel room, rousing Dean and his two female companions from their slumber. Sheets were tossed aside and arms and legs unwound. A woman's voice began shrilly filling the room; "First up for our news today, a local man was found dead in his home early this morning. Police are not declaring it a homicide or release the name, but the have stated that an investigation is underway due to the suspicious circumstances that the body was found under."

Dean groaned when he heard the news, and climbed out of bed. The two girls stirred and sat up as well, looking at Dean.

"Sorry, ladies, duty calls," said Dean.

The two girls gave him a scathing look but proceeded to gather their things and leave the room, one giving him a saucy grin before pulling on her shirt. "I had a good time while it lasted, Dennis."

"It's Dean…never mind. Have a great day, both of you."

Dean waited until they left, finished getting dressed, and headed out to the Impala. He looked into the back seat and saw Sam's tall figure practically folded double and sound asleep.

"Sam, move your ass, Wendigo at on our six, get the flamethrower!" shouted Dean, pounding on the Impala's roof. Sam's eyes opened and he shot up, arms and legs flailing as he attempted to get out of the Impala and into the trunk. He opened the door and saw his brother smirking.

"NOT funny Dean!"

"It's your wake up call, bitch. You may be sleeping beauty but I ain't kissing your fugly face. Like I said, move your ass, I got a lead on the Sandman that we thought we ganked."

"You got a lead? What'd you do? Do a Vulcan mind-meld with the demon and read it's inner thoughts?"

"Now, that would be cool. But no, give me more credit then that Sammy. I'm downright cultured, you know. Listened to the NEWS this morning."

"Who forced you to do that? 'Cause you wouldn't do that on your own, I know you too well."

Dean grinned, "Alarm clock was a radio. It clicked on and said something about a suspicious death. Sounds like it could be our badass creature."

"Wait, NOW you want to go after it? Now you're sure that we didn't get the damn thing when last night all you wanted to do was, well, the Olsen twins!"

"No, dude, it's the double-mint twins, get it right! Sammy, you just gotta lighten up once in a while, you blush when you read porn for goodness sake! Anyway, the radio chick said that a dude was offed on the other side of this town. Who knew that in Fall River bodies would fall worse then when Dick Chaney is hunting?"

"Well, whatever is causing the Sandman to go after people, it's getting worse, the body count is upping way too fast."

"You know what Sammy, I'm getting really sick of this sonuva bitch! Let's go find out what happened to these people and kill him before he does it again!" Dean barked and grabbed the door handle of the Impala, yanking it open and quickly sliding into the drivers seat and cracking the engine to life. Sam jumped in after him and began rummaging through the glove box to find an ID that would get them into the crime scene.

"FBI good?" Sam questioned as he held up two well-worn badges with their pictures on them.

"Dude, I don't care if I have to go as a friggin' nun to get in there at this point, I just need to get this Sandman fast, for several reasons. Number one, he's messing with innocent lives here, and that just ain't cool. Number two; my fun-time has seriously taken a nosedive. Number three, well, we'd be failing the family business if we didn't."

Sam smirked, " I don't think we'll have to go that far, Dean, but if you're offering…"

Dean just glared and accelerated the car. The Impala sped quickly to the crime scene at 405 Maple Hurst Drive, Fall River, Massachusetts, which Sam had found online thanks to some other hunters with police scanners. The Winchesters stepped briskly out of the vehicle and quickly assessed the situation.

"Three local officers and one State trooper…see anything else Dean?"

"Nope, we're good to go," said Dean, plastering on his most winning smile and striding up to the officers, "Can I speak to the officer in charge?"

"I'm Officer Daily, the man you want, who the hell are you?"

"I'm Agent Palmer, and this is Agent Wetton, FBI. We're here because you found some guy dead in his basement and the cause of death looks suspicious. Got any signs of foul play or is it looking like a suicide now?" Dean rattled off, hoping to catch the officer off guard so they could get right into the crime scene.

"You're welcome to it, Agents, this is one case I'm not raring to get my hands on, damn god-awful mess, this is," began Officer Daily, "and I'm not thinking it's over either. It's a bunch of weird shit that just doesn't add up. The man, Adam Jameson Parker, was found with his eyes all freaky in the basement, where the household den is. Apparently he got up some time in the night and couldn't sleep, turned on the TV. Now here's where it gets weird, it looks like some kind of struggle ensued and he was chased from the couch, but the damn door is locked from the INSIDE so if someone was in there Adam sure as hell had to have let that someone in.

"Didn't the wife or girlfriend hear anything?" probed Sam.

"Nope, can you believe it? They soundproofed the freakin' den! It's his girlfriend, Tina Sanders, they've been together for two years, no signs of trouble in the relationship where she'd want him dead, as far as I can tell. In fact, she seems convinced that something happened on their last camping trip to set Adam off, something that followed them home and now it's bothering her, says she's seeing things. Crazy talk!"

Dean looked at Sam and raised his eyebrows, and then he turned to the officer, "Mind if we ask her a couple of questions? You know, see if there's anything that some one-on-one time might help clarify for our case?"

"Knock yourselves out, like I said, I wouldn't touch this case with a ten-foot pole."

"Thank you, sir," Sam quickly offered and then proceeded to go find the girlfriend, Tina. Dean followed in his footsteps and both found her huddled in a rocking chair with a ceramic mug clutched in her hands, the contents long cold. As they got closer they could hear Tina mumbling sometime rather incoherently.

"Orange, always orange…sleep, no sleep, never sleep…orange like a traffic cone, orange-aid, orange cat, orange…" The string of words continued to come from Tina, who never acknowledged the Winchesters, off in her own little, terrified, world.

"Tina, I'm Agent Wetton and this is my partner Agent Palmer. We're here to ask you a few questions about your boyfriend's death," Sam spoke in a soothing manner to Tina, offering her a glance of comfort. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, eyes glassy, but she managed to mumble "Hello officers" and look up at Sam and Dean.

Dean stepped in closer, "Ma'am, we know you've been through a whole lot today and we're sorry to add to your troubles. But, if you think that maybe something else happened here besides a burglar getting into the house, you might wanna talk to us, we'll believe you. Like maybe, there's something that doesn't seem real…strange noises, shapes, dreams…"

"Yes, Adam had those. All of those. Saw orange, orange everywhere. And bad dreams…bad, bad, bad dreams! I thought he was silly, I knew he'd had trouble sleeping before and now he was getting me up and causing me to have trouble too. It got worse after camping. I resented him for it. Oh God, I RESENTED him for it. And now he's dead. If I'd just listened, maybe he could have…and it's still here. Oh yes, it's still here. It wants me now, it knows I can't sleep. That I will never sleep. Never…never…never…" Tina's voice trailed off into nothingness and her gaze slipped from the Winchester's figures to her own unseen thoughts, dreams, and nightmares.

Sam and Dean stepped away from Tina and began to talk in harsh whispers to each other. It all finally clicked for Sam who began to rush through his theory, "They picked the bastard up in the woods! That's the common factor, same camping area. Now that thing is after her, it goes after people who can't sleep. Those are the factors, and if she was having some trouble before, she definitely will now!"

Dean raised his hands and shook his head slightly, "Whoa, whoa, slow down, Sammy. I get it, and I agree with you. But how are we gonna kill it? What's its weakness?"

"Well, the Sandman and the Greek God Morpheus are basically two different verisons of the same thing, a creature who manipulates dreams and causes nightmares to basically come to life in the person's mind. The Greeks said Morpheus slept in a cave on a bed of poppies."

"Poppies? Like from the Wizard of OZ?"

Sam shook his head, "The knowledge you retain and lose is amazing to me. But sorta, yes, I'd say that to put the Sandman down we need to OD him on the thing that he uses to sleep…so poppies, yes."

"Dude, the Sandman is such a drug addict. How are we going to get our hands on opium poppy or morphine?"

"We get rare, priceless artifacts like the colt and you're worried about that? Who are you and what have you done with my brother Dean?!"

"Never mind, we can call in a few favors. Doesn't Tommy in Modesto owe us one for that save with the demon Abraxas?" Dean whipped out his cell phone and started dialing the number while Sam turned his attention back to Tina, trying to get her to sit up. Both were listening to the one-sided conversation between Tommy and Dean.

"Hey Tommy? It's Dean…Dean Winchester…the guy who saved your ass from that demon. Yeah. Good, good. Got a case here. No I'm not flying you out…need something special sent our way and I know you got some ties to the drug/medical world. What? No it's not for me…no I'm not gonna use it on a person! God, what kinda man do you think I am? It's for a god. You heard me right jackass! Sandman or Morpheus. Yep, you got it! Morphine or anything of the poppy variety. Express shipped, dude. Can't wait. Thanks."

Dean looked at Sam and Tina, got a cocky grin on his face and shrugged his shoulders, "What? So I know a guy, big deal. We should have the drugs by tomorrow."

"That's good Dean," Sam said and then turned to Tina, "Um, you mind if we stick around your place tonight, sorta stake it out? Because I don't think you've seen the last of whatever kil.., I mean, whatever caused your boyfriend's death."

"Sure, but, who are you people? You can't be law officers, no FBI agent would ever believe…unless, you're like the X-Files and Fringe people? You investigate the freaky cases?"

"Yep, that's right, I'm Agent Mulder and this here is Agent Scully. He's had some work done so he doesn't look like a red-headed woman anymore," Dean joked while behind Tina Sam made some movements to indicate where Dean could shove his sarcastic remarks and other threatening motions. Tine looked between the two of them, "So, now what?"

"Now we wait and pray the stuff gets here soon," Sam said, his voice heavy with worry.


	14. Chapter 14 Preparing for Battle

Inside the house, the Winchesters were standing in the kitchen debating what they should do. The sunlight now shone brightly through the windows, indicating that time was quickly slipping away. The morning was now gone and afternoon had arrived. Tina was still in the rocking chair in the parlor, reeling from the idea that something otherworldly was after her. She didn't even notice the hushed voices that were coming from the other room.

"Well, what do you think is going to stop Mr. Darkly Dreaming Death Monster?" Dean quipped to try to lighten the mood, running his hand over his face, the concern and anger at the Sandman apparent. Dean had dealt with demons and monsters for so long that he thought it should be second nature to him. But it wasn't. Each case was personal to him, even when he didn't show it, and this one was really getting to him because it had so many victims. It made him wonder, what would he become when his deal came due. Would he end up a Sandman? A monster wandering the night, torturing, killing, mutilating victims? Sam or some other hunter would find him, hunt him. Put him out of his misery. If that were even possible. How many demons had they dispatched, only to have them return? All this flashed in his mind in an instant, then his focus was on Sam's words.

"Sandman knows Tina's here and has already been mentally torturing her. I think that we should try to protect the house somehow. Charms, anointing, talismans, and herbs could all help. I'm not sure, though. Gods have never been our strong suit," Sam finished, thinking back once again to the day when Dean died over and over again thanks to the Trickster god; how one day soon, if they didn't figure out how to get him out of the deal, Dean would be gone from his life, forever. The words hung in the air with such finality and he could see that it was an added weight on Dean's shoulders. It was in his face, a weariness that increased with each passing day. So they had to figure out how to save Tina because it was like saving Tina helped save Dean in some small way. At least, that was both boys' logic.

Dean clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation, "I guess we should get started then, snake-doctor. We got some Van-van oil in the trunk of the Impala, and lots of salt. I know we haven't tried that on Mr. Morpheus but I'm guessing that it'll still hurt like hell. If we're lucky, knock him out."

Sam nodded his head in agreement, "Sounds like a plan. We get the house blessed and maybe we stand half a chance. At least buy us some time until the drugs get here."

The Winchesters exited the house, striding down the porch steps to the car. Dean unlocked the trunk and lifted it open, then took the false covering off of the trunk to reveal the contents housed inside. It was a hunter's paradise, with a variety of guns, knives, axes, chains, stakes, herbs, hoodoo items, holy water, rosaries, and amulets. Whatever a hunter might need or want during a hunt, especially one that was time-consuming and isolated, which many were. The scent inside was old and musty. Years of use and exposure to blood, sweat, and demonic residue had created a unique smell, a bitter, old, timeless scent that meant hunts and orders and skill and danger and triumph to Sam and Dean. Yes, and some sorrow too, for those they couldn't save. The trunk was a memory box, of sorts, but practical just the same. Sam gathered a bag of rock salt, some oil, and the holy water. Dean grabbed the shot gun, a .22 pistol, a 9mm, and the Colt, tucking the last one in the back of his jeans. He glanced back at the trunk and grabbed the demon-killing knife, a machete, and athamae they had picked up in their travels for good measure.

"Think you got enough, Sammy? You look like a house-wife after grocery shopping." Dean hefted the guns and knives into a better position in his arms.

"Yea, you gotta watch out for the quiet ones, Dean. Haven't you ever seen those profiling shows on TV? One minute their fine and dandy and the next minute they are wearing heads as hats and making crazy drawings of their next victims. Besides, you look like Edward Scissor-Hands with all those knives and guns. All that's missing is the crazy hair; you already have the insane look in your eyes." Sam took the stairs two at a time and then waited at the door for Dean to open it for him since his hands were so full.

"Two hands that are lethal weapons? I like the sound of that!" Dean rushed up the stairs and opened the door for Sam, following after him. "You think this'll hold the bastard off until we can shoot him up?"

"Yeah, it's gonna have to work. For now. Plus, it's not like we don't have something that will work, Dean."

"Something you THINK will work, Sam. You're just guessing here. It's not like there's a 'How to Kill Pagan Gods for Dummies' manual that you consulted."

"You're questioning the plan now? Little late for that since we're committing a felony in getting illegal drugs."

"Sammy, you're worried about the law now? That's the old Sammy talkin'. Where's the 'shoot first, ask questions later' little brother that I know and love?" Dean reached for the Colt while talking; checking the barrel and making sure it was fully loaded, chambering a round so that he was prepared at a moment's notice.

Sam winced a little at those words, although Dean didn't notice. He'd had to change a lot in those months that Dean was gone, and even before that. Jess's death had worn away at him; as had losing their dad. These all left holes in their lives, shaping the road they were on. Sam knew that he'd have to be more like Dean if he wanted to survive without him…but he couldn't think that way. They'd find a way to save him, some last ditch effort that was right in front of them. "A little caution isn't bad, Dean. I'm not the one who's been arrested more than once, what is it, two times now?" Sam set the items he was carrying on the kitchen table and turned to face Dean.

"Three at least, but who's counting? But I've also been killed…so have you. The cops ain't after us. Not anymore, anyway, so we're fine with the opium," Dean reached out and smacked Sam on his back, moving to get the rooms and overall house ready for the night, taking the holy water and oil with him.

The joking was over now and the Winchesters got down to business. Sam reached for the shotgun and prepared it for the evening's expected visitor. He pocketed the demon-killing knife and then gathered the salt and some herbs and went to all the doors and windows, covering them with salt and adding protective herbs at the more vulnerable spots for good measure. Upstairs Dean was doing the same. He'd already went outside and put a layer of salt around the house and doused it with holy water. When he finished with the upstairs he met Sam in the parlor. They stood in front of Tina, who still rocked back and forth after all those hours they had spent with her in the house.

"She's not gonna be useful to us at all, that's for damn sure," Dean groused to Sam.

"We have to try something, he's gonna come after her, specifically. She's got all the characteristics that he's looking for. She's chumming the waters for us, Dean. The least we can do is try to prepare her for it."

"She better prepare freakin' fast, what is it, four in the afternoon now? Sundown's at seven. He'll be attacking then," Dean glanced at Tina and then at the clock. The Winchesters then settled into the task of arming Tina with the knowledge she would need if she were going to even have half a chance of making it through the night.


	15. Chapter 15 Sand Gets in Your Eyes

Throughout the day, despite the sunlight, the Sandman plagued Tina's waking and sleeping hours. Having told her that monsters were real and she was in danger had been a bad idea. Tina was no longer functioning well enough to defend herself. Each time she would doze off she would dream horrific nightmares of evil orange eyes and slow, painful death; she would be standing, unable to move as the imposing figure drew ever closer to her, a menacing black mass of destruction in her dreams. Some were from the Sandman, of course. But others were just products of her sleep deprived mind. While awake she would catch very real flashes of the creature's orange eyes out of the corner of her eye and begin screaming in terror for Sam and Dean to save her. The Winchesters lost track of how often this happened, and soon seven o'clock rolled around and the daylight was gone. The Sandman could move even more freely now, in a more solid state, not just in the mind of Tina. But still he didn't strike. Sam and Dean were impatient and wondered why he didn't show himself. The hours ticked by, first eight, then ten, then midnight, and finally it was after two in the morning.

"This dude just keeps on finding ways to piss me off. If he's going to come, which we know he is, why doesn't he forget the damn theatrics and just bring it on," Dean growled into the cool air of the house, "Unless we covered the house just that good…"

"Wow, Dean, didn't know that you knew what the word 'theatrics' meant," chuckled Sam, trying to ease the tension but holding the knife a bit higher then was necessary. They were both on edge, each sense keyed to its highest possible point and wondering if anything they had done to help protect the house would work until the Sandman-killing opium arrived.

* * *

_The time is now,_ he thought as the grandfather clock struck 3am, _this is my hour, my place! Who are you all to challenge me! I've been around for thousands of years, and she comes willingly, smelling and feeling of the most amazing blend of terror and sleep deprivation. This is my world, where I belong, and it's this woman who has decided to step into it. She has forfeit herself, her soul, to me. _

Morpheus flowed into the Parker house, more fully alive and aware of all the beings that were present. If he could gain access to them all, oh what a feast he'd have! The time was his, now, night. The darkest of hours would soon be there and as the final chimes of 3 am hit, nothing would be sacred. He would make the blood run from their veins without touching them at all. He smiled to himself, a wicked grimace that would make a human's blood freeze inside their very bodies. He knew well the terrors inside a human mind. They were all there, so ripe for the taking. But he would bid his time and take them on his terms or none at all…there was a ritual to be followed, after all. One must be consumed by his or her own deepest, darkest fears. And that meant a more subtle approach.

The Sandman looked down at his cloak and with his fleshless fingers reached inside to produce his bag of sand. His eyes flashed an acidic orange in the darkness of the room, an empty bedroom, for all the house's occupants were downstairs…sleepless or sleeping fitfully. _Just the way I like it, _Morpheus thought. He glided down the stairs and toward the unrestful form of Tina, his first would-be victim of the evening.

* * *

Sam and Dean became aware of the creature when it was hovering near Tina. Dean's eyes widen when he saw how close the thing had gotten without even making a sound or raising their awareness of it. It just had appeared out of nowhere. Sam too, was shocked at Morpheus' sudden approach. The creature seemed to be fully intent upon Tina, ignoring the two men flanking the woman.

Dean made some quick hand gestures, signaling Sam to get into position while trying to figure out what the Sandman was doing to Tina. Sam prepared to go in for the kill with a knife to the heart, while Dean made ready to fire a few salt rounds at Morpheus to distract him so Sam would be able to get at him. They noticed the Sandman reaching into his black robes.

"Now," mouthed Dean, not saying the word aloud so that they would surprise the creature. **Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!** Round after round of rock salt hit the Sandman, and he twisted to face Dean, glaring with such hatred in his eyes that it would have scared a less experienced hunter. "Sam, move your ass!" Sam was quick to respond to his brother's request, and plunged the knife into Morpheus' chest. The creature gasped and staggered, obviously wounded.

"I think we might have him without your Poppy shit Sam!" Dean's eyes held a triumphant look for the Sandman continued to stagger around the room, his wound spewing a blackish-green blood that hissed as it touched the ground.

"Be careful Dean, his blood, it's acid, I think," Sam called out to Dean over the continued roars from the Sandman, positioning himself closer to Tina to protect her from the blood and the creature in case it turned to them. Instead, the creature did something that Sam and Dean didn't expect. He once again clawed at his cloak and pulled out a bag of something that the Winchester's couldn't identify. He pulled the drawstring and quickly applied whatever was in it to his wound, and it healed instantly! Sam and Dean charged at him again, careful to avoid the acidic blood that was dripping all over the floor, eating away at the carpeting and even beginning to make the floor unsound.

Before either one could get a blow to the creature and reverse the healing process to kill the creature, Morpheus was flinging a gritty substance at their eyes.

"Ack! Dean, I can't see."

"Sonvabitch!" Dean swore and attempted to level his colt at anything that remotely looked like the Sandman but was afraid of shooting Sam and Tina. "Sammy, get your ass down on the ground, Tina, move it down low too!"

* * *

The Sandman made a hissing sound under his breath. _Not how I'd have liked to make their nightmares come to life, but it'll have to do._ Morpheus glowered at the meddling Winchesters. He watched the two brothers flounder around and decided that now was the time to strike the girl too. _Three at a time, oh how I do enjoy carnage. It won't be long now, and they won't know where they are or what they are doing. Death, destruction, torture, and pain. All at their own hands! _

Morpheus moved quickly and tossed the sand into Tina's eyes, then stepped back into a dark corner to watch the horror begin.


	16. Chapter 16 With Both Guns Blazin'

The scene in the living room was a mess; any civilian would have freaked out. In a corner stood a being that should not exist; a dark cloaked figure with a deadly stare, its breath rattling and filling the air. On the floor huge holes were present and growing even more as acidic blood ate away the carpeting and floorboards. The stench from it was noxious, hanging in the air as a fog-like vapor.

On the ground were three people, two men and a woman, somehow still alive in the Hell on Earth that was once a living room. One man tried standing in the center of the wasteland, clutching a colt in his hands, rubbing one eye furiously. It was becoming red and inflamed with each swipe of his hand although flecks of sand were slowly falling out of the injured eye. Still completely on the floor were two people, a man and a woman. The man was holding onto the woman, his own eyes bloodshot red and half closed, blindly searching for something in a bag.

"There we go, got it. I hope this helps before it affects us more. Tina, please, let me put this in your eyes." Sam pleaded as Tina began to back away. Sam's vision shifted as well, the room getting blurry and…_was that Azazel AND Lilith coming near him?_ Sam shook his head to clear his vision and focus on the task at hand. He grabbed the holy water and doused his eyes with it, rubbing at them to remove the grainy substance that had been tossed into them by the Sandman. Tina was already starting to be affected by it too, but Sam had to help himself if he was going to help her. He continuously splashed his eyes with the holy water and then grabbed Tina.

"No, please, don't…get back you son of a bitch!" she screamed, but obviously not at Sam, she was seeing something else altogether, looking over his shoulder.

"Ok, Tina, this isn't real, so get back here." Sam pulled her head into his arms and held it tight in a kind of headlock. Tina wasn't able to stand since she had been on her knees and Sam's grip prevented her from rising, but that didn't stop her hands from flailing and scratching Sam's arms and face. Sam flinched a bit as the fingernails found their mark. Red welts appeared on his arms and face.

"Stop that, now, c'mon, Tina." Sam tried to hold down her hands and douse her eyes with holy water at the same time. He succeeded in getting some water into her eyes, which only seemed to piss her off more and she was getting more panicked by the second by whatever she was seeing.

Closer to the Sandman Dean was struggling with his own vision. Only one of his eyes had been hit with the sand; still, it was really doing a number on him. He continued to rub at it occasionally, and when he glanced up with it he would get double vision. Dean shook his head a bit to try and get a better look at the creature, "You sonvabitch! Blinding me so you think I can't kill your ass, well you're WRONG! I'll freakin' smoke you're as…" Dean stopped in midsentence. He couldn't figure out what he was seeing. The double vision had changed into two completely different scenes. In Dean's "good" eye there was the Sandman, standing in the corner and Sam and Tina on the floor doing something with the holy water. In Dean's other eye, however, it was a different story entirely. The room was engulfed in flames; red, yellow, blue, orange, and white monstrosities climbing the walls. Three huge black dogs with fire coming out of their eyes, noses, and mouths, their bodies black from the mass of swirling, shrieking souls stood among this chaos before him. If Dean looked closely he could see the souls' in agony, the open mouths in silent screams, the naked bodies being ripped apart, either torn in two, ripped limb from limb, or flayed by demons with the typical demonic image of forked tails and tongues and cloven hooves. Skulls were also present, sightless eye sockets with black, smoky snakes for tongues. The toenails of the hellhounds make a clicking noise on the floor, despite the carpeting. When Dean looked down he realized that each toenail was massive in size and cruelly hooked, burning holes in the carpeting to the wooden floor below and spreading the flames at an even faster pace.

"Sammy! Get out, get away from the flames, they're here. Oh God, they're here. No, no, it's too early, it's way too early. I have some time yet…this isn't the day for this." Dean backed away from the hellhounds and sought to find his brother amid the burning pillar in front of him. Dean closed his one bad eye as it watered from the heat and was met with…a dark house. Sam held Tina by the head yet and was dumping holy water into her eyes.

"Dean, what's wrong? There's no fire here." Sam questioned his older brother, concern evident on his face. Morpheus still waited in the corner. Sam couldn't understand why, but Tina was still going a bit crazy and he could only deal with one crisis at a time. He prayed _Please let Dean be ok._

At that time Dean opened his other eye again and suddenly hellhounds and flames jumped once again into view…along with the more serene view of Sam and Tina with a bottle of holy water.

* * *

The inky figure in the corner was still biding his time, ready to make a move now that it seemed that the Winchesters were on to him. _They'll die slowly and painfully, to be sure. I hate them; hate them with a passion and a poison that drips from my very being. But they can't fight for long; they have entered my realm now. Bastards, the lot of them! At least the one brother seems to be in my grasp, the girl too, if that damn Sam wasn't trying to save her somehow. _Morpheus moved toward Sam and Tina, relishing his hold over these humans, even if they were fighting it. He hadn't expected it to be too easy, now had he?

* * *

Dean was suddenly able to put it all together. The nightmare in one eye and the reality in the other.

"This is how you get the victims to do your dirty work, you fugly piece of shit!" Dean roared out the words, moving quickly to grab a pistol in an ankle holster. Suddenly, he was holding the guns pointblank on Morpheus.

"Eat rocksalt sandbag!"

The colt and pistol flashed to life, pouring more salt into the Sandman's chest. Wounds began to appear on the creature's hands and chest, acid burning holes through its robe and anything that it came into contact with. Some of the blood splashed onto Dean's sleeve.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Shit! Stings a bit," Dean bellowed but didn't stop his advance. Again and again the shots rang out into the night air, filling it with their screams. The Sandman continued his slow retreat, reaching for his bag of evil sand but never able to get to it, for each time he came close Dean fired another round at him again. Dean was protecting Sammy and Tina now. His will was iron set. Nothing would stop him, even if it meant he'd die in the process.


	17. Chapter 17 Guns, Pain, and Cabs

"You. Are. Not. Going. To. Hurt. Another. Living. Being. You. Son. Of. A. Bitch!" Dean punctuated each word with the blast of his guns.

"Dhhhaaaiiiieeee!" A strange hissing noise seemed to fill the air, loud and menacing.

"Dean, I think he's trying to say something." Sam spoke with urgency in his voice, looking up from Tina, who was no longer putting up a fight. Sam had even been able to finish getting the sand-like substance out of her eyes and Tina had drifted away into unconsciousness.

"You think he has a mouth under that hood? I don't care if he wants to sing me the flippin' _National Anthem;_ he's going to be dust in the wind in a few seconds if I have my way." Dean was still pulling the triggers, but only a small clicking sound could be heard. "Damn. Out already?" Dean mumbled to himself and quickly changed the clip in one, firing a few rounds for good measure at Morpheus. His double vision was interfering with his ability to load the guns and the break in between shots gave the Sandman more than enough time to grab enough sand to heal his wounds and move in closer to Dean. The shots that Dean fired at the Sandman were extremely close, he could see the bullets enter its body; feel the slight spray of acid on his pants, shirt, and hands. Morpheus continued his charge at Dean, thrusting him next to the wall Dean saw as a burning inferno. He tried to push himself away from the flames, could feel his flesh starting to burn. The heat was causing beads of sweat to roll down his face. Morpheus had pinned Dean's arms at his sides so the guns hung uselessly, one still missing a clip. There was a sickening crunch as the bones in Dean's wrists gave way to the pressure from his gripe.

"DEAN!" Sam quickly moved away from the recovering Tina and rushed to help his older brother, taking with him the only weapon he had thought to bring from their duffel bag of many weapons: holy water. Sam dosed the Sandman in the blessed oil and water, causing steam to rise wherever it hit.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Dhhhhaaaiiiieee Mmmmmmmooorttttaaaaallll!" Nearly unintelligible words came out of Morpheus' mouth as he turned to face his new attacker. For such a wraith-like being the Sandman was able to move with such agility and force that it surprised Sam. Suddenly HE was the one up against a wall with the corpse-like hands around his neck. The color drained from Sam's face and his fingers clutched at the willowy fingers crushing his windpipe.

"Dehhhnn," Was the strangled gasp that came from Sam's throat. His vision blurred and began to go dark, he could feel his lungs burning, longing for a single breath of fresh air.

Dean struggled to focus on Sam, with fire and hell hounds in one eye and the Sandman with Sam in the other, Dean made a haphazard line for Sam and attempted to hold out the one loaded gun with his broken wrist. His hand waivered as he tried to pull the trigger and Dean screamed as a fiery pain shot through his arm, causing it to shake uncontrollably. Dean quickly dropped the useless firearm to the ground and lunged at the Sandman, causing the creature to temporarily lose its grip on Sam's neck.

* * *

As the struggle raged on inside the house a taxi traveled along the roadway, quickly approaching a nicely kept house.

"What's the address again?" the cabby asked the man sitting behind the Plexiglas partition that separated the cab driver from his fares. He shifted in his seat a bit and looked back and the mysterious fare from the airport. Tall, lanky, but with a 'don't mess with me' look in his eyes. His hair was a surfer blonde in color and his arms looked like they belonged to a pair of trees. The cabby almost jumped when the voice came from the back seat.

"405 Maple Hurst Drive, the Parker residence. And get a move on it, would ya? I really don't have all day and if I'm not there soon then the merchandise is gonna get cold!" The passenger thumped the package on the seat beside him while glaring at the cabby.

"Hey, if this is illegal shit, I don't want nuthin' to do wit' it, mister," the cabby began, starting to worry about his safety with the rather dangerous looking man in his cab.

"Dude, you do your thing, I'll do mine. No harm, no foul. And no, it's not 'illegal shit' per say, man, but it sure as hell ain't a thing you want to mess with," he stated and noticed that the cab was slowing down as he spoke, "What the hell, man? You said that you'd take me…"

"I said that I'd take you to 405 Maple Hurst Drive. And I did. Anything else, sir?" the cabby questioned with a wary look in his eyes, he was still on the defensive and his hand was inching toward his glove compartment toward the handgun it concealed.

The passenger shook his head while placing the money for his fare in the payment slot and turned away. A slight bulge in the back of his jeans revealing his own concealed weapon; he spoke over his shoulder as he walked away, a smirk on his face, "Nope, I'm good, and I'd get the hell outta here before the shit hits the fan." The man turned his head back toward the house, opening the package he'd been carrying as he went. Inside were a hypodermic needle and a vial of a clear liquid. That sight, coupled with the likely gun the man was carrying, told the cabby it was time to make a hasty exit. He floored it and pealed out of the area.

Meanwhile, the man approached the house with caution, preparing the needle by inserting the contents of the vial into it. He then reached around to his waistband and pulled out his Glock. As he drew closer to the house he could hear smashing and banging coming from inside the house. The man crouched down and quickly covered ground so that he could look inside the house. Inside he could see a creature attacking one man and the creature itself being attacked by another man. He got a wicked grin on his face and then walked around to find the nearest entrance, tucking the capped hypodermic needle into his shirt pocket.

"I've always wanted to do this," he said, raising his leg up and giving the door an almighty kick. He then raised his gun and fired at the Sandman that was wedged between Sam and Dean.

"Here's some salt for you, sucker, I hope you choke on it dirtbag!"

The Sandman turned to face the man at the door shooting at him, knocking away Dean and releasing his grip on Sam. He made his way swiftly to the man, tossing sand into his eyes before he could react.

"Son of a…man that hurts like hell!" he roared.

Dean corrected his balance before he fell to the floor, looking at the Sandman and the man he now had in his grasp. "Tommy? What the hell, man?"

Tommy was actually holding his own at the moment, still firing at Morpheus' general direction with his gun while cursing a blue streak and rubbing at his eyes with his other hand.

Sam sat for a moment recovering his breath but was reaching for the holy water and the gun that Dean had dropped. Dean himself was trying to get to the duffle bag to grab a knife, but the pain in his wrists was making it difficult to even open the bag.

"Dude, get your ass over here. I got the morphine shit in m'pocket!" Tommy was still rubbing at his eyes, the Glock was silent now, though, as he began to see his worst nightmares coming to life. "No, please, keep away. You are NOT going to take me alive, you evil son of a bitch! Keep away, no, no, no, no!!!" Tommy's hand was slowly swinging the gun around. Now, instead of facing the Sandman, it faced Dean.

"Dean! Get down now!" Sam screamed at his brother as the shot echoed in the air.


	18. Chapter 18 I'm Melting!

Dean's body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Sam screamed, "DEAN!" and ran toward his brother, fear written all over his face. Sam dived at Dean as more shots flew over their heads.

Suddenly, Dean made a move for the duffle bag and painfully made another tug on the zipper, but it still didn't budge.

"You hit?" questioned Sam, heaving a sigh of relief that Dean was still moving at least.

"Nah, I'm good, you wanna crawl up here and open this bad boy up? I'm slightly impaired at the moment." Dean waved his arms around from his crouched position, wincing slightly as the sound of more bullets whizzed by overhead.

"Nope, I'd rather wait here to be hit by a stray bullet," Sam quipped, moving to the bag and getting more holy water out.

"Well, at least he's not shooting AT us, more like at whatever is in his now messed up head…scratch that, his more messed up head." Dean looked at Tommy and his attack on the wall next to them. It seemed as if Tommy would do just about anything to try and kill whatever he was seeing and was hurting himself in the process, pounding on the walls and firing at such close range it was causing his ears to bleed.

Sam and Dean looked at each other and then at Tommy and the Sandman, the former being very violent and vocal, while the latter was slowly closing in on them all. Sam handed Dean a bottle of the blessed water that Dean grabbed up in an awkward fashion. Together they began to fight back. Dean sprayed holy water at the Sandman, causing him slow in his approach, but not stop. Sam got around behind Tommy and tackled him to the ground, forcing the gun out of his hands and pressing his head to the ground so he could wash the sand from hell out of his eyes. Tommy hit Sam and flailed his legs, trying to get away, but Sam wouldn't let him.

"Let go, demonic scum of Satan! You horse's ass! You bastard!"

"Dammit Tommy, I know it doesn't seem this way, but I'm trying to help you!" Sam's arm stayed firm and soon the fighting began to subside as the holy water did the trick. In less than a minute Tommy only fidgeted and Sam was able to grab the hypodermic needle from this his shirt.

"Well, damn, Dean, it's still good." Sam was in awe at the intact vial of morphine. He quickly rushed over to help his brother, who was now fighting a losing battle. The holy water in the bottle had just run out and Dean was backed into a corner, one eye still steeped in visions of hellfire and hellhounds, the other focused on the Sandman's hand that was creeping slowly under his robes and finding the sand that hid there.

Suddenly, Dean saw Sam behind Morpheus. Unknown to the Sandman, the two shared a quick conversation with eyes and small hand gestures. A terse nod from Dean and Sam got into position. Just as the hand withdrew from the robes and the eyes flashed acidic orange, Dean rushed the Sandman, using his full body weight to knock him to the ground. Sam swiftly moved forward and jammed the needle into the neck region of the creature, pushed the plunger down, and then pulled the needle back out, stepping away from Morpheus while Dean quickly rolled away from the Sandman and onto the rickety floor. Both were prepared for Morpheus to jump up and continue to fight, Dean in a half-crouch and Sam ready with more blessed water and a shotgun. What came next shocked them both.

Morpheus screamed out in agony, his entire body convulsing. Pieces of skin peeled away, letting the acid-blood leak out onto the floor. Rays of bright orange light shot out of his mouth and eyes. The screams turned to obscenities: "Yoooouuu'llllllllllll pppphhaaaaaaayyyy fffffffffffffooooorrr thiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssssss bbbaassstaards. Sssssonnnsssss oooofff bittttttcccchhheesssss! Ddaaaammmmnnn yoooouuuu aaaallllll tah-tah-tah-tuoooo hhhheeellllll!"

Like time-lapsed film, the ancient creature's body dissolved into oozing acid and sand before their eyes.

"Dude, he's such a pansy. Like the freakin' Wicked Witch of the West he MELTED of all things." Dean shook his head, "It was just too easy."

Sam cast a sidelong glance at Dean, "You're kidding, right? First off, that was more of a dissolving then a melting."

"Tomato, tamato." Dean shrugged while Sam just glared.

"Second, we've been tailing this thing for days, and it's been around for millennia Dean. We. Just. Killed. A. Demigod! Doesn't that sorta hold some amazement for you? Plus, I'm not the one with acid burns and broken wrists."

"If I could, I'd smack you upside the head, man. That's just not cool, poking fun at another man's injuries." Dean raised his hand and did the next best thing, giving Sam the one finger salute.

"Jerk."

"Bitch. Let a dying man rest in peace." Dean moved over to the two unconscious forms of Tommy and Tina. "Should we wake them?" He grinned and lightly kicked at Tommy with his foot. "Rise and shine douchebag."

Sam sighed, the events of the day paling in comparison to the fact that Dean's death still waited; and they weren't any closer to getting him out of his deal. The fact that Dean had seen the hellhounds in his vision of hell only showed Sam how much Dean kept hidden from him and his true feelings about hell. Tommy's groaning snapped Sam out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, Tommy. Some help you turned out to be. Turned your own gun on us. What are you smoking up in Modesto? That's twice we've saved your sorry rear." Sam offered a hand to help Tommy up as Dean stepped back.

"I'd have offered to do the same, but I'm a bit handicapped at the moment, although, Sammy raises a good point. Why the hell are you here and not California? We said ship the stuff, not freakin' personally hand it to us."

"Dude, I so, like, totally couldn't miss out on the action, not after last time. And I did awesome, man, totally knocked that freakin' door off its hinges!" Tommy beamed with his accomplishments.

"Yeah, you also shot the shit out of this place and nearly killed me in the process," complained Dean. The adrenaline rush was over and both Tommy and Sam could see the pain that was slowly creeping into Dean's face.

"Well, man, if it wasn't for me, you'd both be dead, sure as I'm Tommy Smith!"

Dean looked at Tommy with a questioning grin. "When did you become Tommy Smith?"

"When I realized Tommy Hilfiger wasn't gonna fly," he said smugly.

Dean and Sam just looked at each other.

"Ok, whatever. Where's Tina?" Sam glanced around the room and found the still unconscious form of Tina lying in the living room area, dangerously close to a gaping hole in the floorboards. Sam rushed over to her, moving Tina out of harm's way. She whimpered slightly, struggling to open her eyes.

"Where am I? Where's that…that…THING!" Tina began to hyperventilate.

"Sshhhh, it's ok Tina." Sam held onto Tina, comforting her as her eyes drifted to what remained of the Sandman. She turned her head into Sam's chest and began to sob, all the tension and fear that she had been living with finally released. Dean looked on with concern.

"She gonna be ok, Sammy? I wish to God I'd gotten rid of that thing faster! If only I'd hit it harder with the holy water and rocksalt or if I'd thought of morphine or opium sooner…" Dean's voice trailed off into the stillness, his hand coming up to run down his face.

"Dean, it's fine. She's fine. It's just too much for her." Sam lifted Tina up and cradled her in his arms. "I'm going to take her up to her room. Let her rest. We'll call the cops back on the way out." Sam repositioned Tina in his arms and then lumbered up the stairs with his load.

"Well, there ain't no use for me here anymore. I think I'm gonna get a hotel and catch a few winks, then head on back to Cali." Tommy yawned and stretched, rubbing his still slightly gritty eyes.

"What are you gonna do, walk?" Dean looked outside to see if there was any car sitting out in the drive and sure enough, only the Impala sat in the early morning glow, the sun just starting to rise in the East.

"Nah, I'm calling a cab back here right now." Tommy's face grew thoughtful, "I just hope it's not the same numbskull who drove me here in the first place. Doubt the cabbie would come back here, though." Tommy got out his cell phone and pushed the speed dial for the same cab service he used earlier. The conversation was short and soon the cell snapped shut with a resounding "click."

"All set?" Dean questioned, looking at the interior of the house that was now a safety hazard.

"Yep, said they got someone here in the area, less than 10 minutes away. Thanks for the fun guys. I'm gonna head outside so the taxi driver doesn't see the mess in here when he comes." Tommy reached for the door, looked back a moment, shook his head. "Damn Winchesters," he muttered under his breath and sat on the curb to wait for his ride.

Dean carefully walked around the holey floor and headed upstairs to check on Sam and Tina. He found Tina in her bed, finally resting comfortably after days without a good sleep. Dean made a motion with his head for Sam to follow him back downstairs; it was time to go. Sam gave one last glance to Tina and then left the room.

Downstairs the Winchesters gathered up all the tools of the trade so when the cops came they couldn't be traced. All the guns, holy water bottles, and other supernatural aids were collected as best as they could and placed back in their duffle bag, with Dean mostly watching without the full use of his wrists. They worked in silence; the only sound that interrupted them was an occasional dropped item and the sound of the cab as it picked up Tommy. When they were done Sam made an anonymous call to the local police station.

"Yeah, there's more trouble at the Parker residence, address 405 Maple Hurst Drive." Sam spoke quickly and ended the call before any trace could be made. "Next stop is the ER, Dean. Gotta get those wrists taken care of."

Dean just grunted and followed Sam out to the Impala, "Better go two towns over so as not to get any docs suspicious, seeing as how some of the locals think we're FB friggin' I."

Sam opened the Impala door for Dean after throwing the duffle in the back seat of the car. He got into the driver's seat and the engine roared to life. Dean winced as the Impala bounced over potholes.

"Dude, can you be more careful? She's sensitive!"

"Dean, it's just a damn car, I think it's you who's more sensitive, with your broken wrists and acid washed jeans."

"The 80's are making a comeback, Sammy, get with the times! Gotta be in style when I go."

"Dean, I wish you'd let me get you out of that deal. That's what we need to focus on now, not these damned hunts! Ruby might be able to help and…"

"Shut it, Sammy. I don't wanna talk about it. Just get me to the ER and then get me a burger. Then call Bobby to find another hunt."

Sam glanced at Dean and saw the set expression on his face. He prayed with each hunt they'd find something to help save Dean, or that Dean would have a change of heart.

Dean brooded quietly in the passenger seat. _This is all my fault. If only I'd figure out a way to help Sammy get past all this. Maybe there's a rite or something that will help him get off my back. It was my choice. There's no saving me from the pit, and I guess in a way I deserve it, I hate putting him through all this. _

Both brothers continued their ride in silence, interrupted only by the sound of classic rock coming from the radio's speakers. The Impala continued on, mile after mile, even after Dean was patched up. The brothers rested only a short while, the impending issue of Dean's deal still unresolved.

Sam still wanted to search for ways to break the deal or kill Lilith.

Dean awaited his fate.

Neither of them aware of the familiar voice that awaits Dean in Ohio on the next hunt Bobby finds them…

* * *

Weeks later Dean sits on a park bench, talking on his cell phone. Sam approaches him with a can of soda pop, and tosses it to Dean, asking about the professor they have been investigating, but Dean rises from the bench, changing the subject.

"Pack your panties, Sammy, we're hitting the road.

"What? What's up?" asks Sam.

"That was Bobby, Some banker guy blew his head off in Ohio and he thinks there's a spirit involved," Dean says…

_**Begin: "Long Distance Call"**_

The Beginning of the End


End file.
